


The Potter Twins and the Goblet of Fire

by arghsigh



Series: The Potter Twins [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Twins, F/M, Gen, Harry Potter Has a Sibling, Harry Potter Has a Twin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 90,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22882294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arghsigh/pseuds/arghsigh
Summary: Going into their fourth year of school, twins Chrys and Harry deal with normal fourteen-year-old problems such as pretty girls, dragons, and legally binding death tournaments.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Original Character(s)
Series: The Potter Twins [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1381768
Comments: 32
Kudos: 41





	1. Of Lethargy and Letters

Her torch started to flicker. Chrys frowned and smacked it against her pillow. The torch spluttered and died. She blinked in the sudden darkness and pulled open the curtain around her bed. Orange light spilled in through the curtains over the bedroom window. She could read (and had read) by less, but… the alarm clock said 3 a.m. She sighed and closed the book she’d been reading.

She had nearly drifted off when her scar started to burn. She gasped and held her hand to her forehead. Her skin felt hot to the touch.

Harry groaned in the bunk above her. She climbed the ladder and pulled open his curtain. Her brother was tossing and turning in his sleep. She shook his shoulder.

“Harry—Harry wake up!” She whispered. Harry’s arms floundered and he smacked her in the face. “Ouch!”

Harry froze. “Chrys?” He squinted at her. “What—?” He sucked in a breath. “What’s going on?” Sweat shone on his brow.

“You were having a bad dream,” she told him.

“Oh.” Harry frowned. “I’m starting to remember…” He sat up and winced.

“Your scar hurts too?” Chrys guessed. Harry grunted. The lightning bolt scar on his forehead didn’t look any different than usual.

“Chrys…” His eyes widened. “The last time our scars hurt…” The last time their scars hurt, it had been a warning—a warning that their parents’ murderer was close by. Harry grabbed his glasses. They scrambled down from the top bunk. He pulled back the window curtain and peered down at Privet Drive. He breathed out. “Nothing. He’s not here.” Chrys frowned as she closed the curtain.

“Why would he be here? The other times he was nearby it was cause he found some kind of magic he could use to bring back his strength… but there’s no magic on Privet Drive.”

“Except us,” Harry pointed out. “And we know what he’d like to do with us.”

“Well… yeah… but if he was here to kill us, he would’ve done it already,” Chrys figured. “So… he’s not here… probably. But, then… why did our scars hurt?” She rubbed her forehead. Harry opened the bureau and frowned at his reflection in the mirror on the back of the door. He touched his scar tentatively.

“It could be… something to do with my dream,” he said slowly. Chrys looked at him expectantly. “Two men were talking—well, one wasn’t a man exactly it was— It was Voldemort, but I can’t remember exactly what he looked like. Whatever it was, it was…” He shuddered. “Anyway, in the dream, Voldemort was talking with Wormtail.” Chrys made a face. Wormtail, aka Peter Pettigrew, was a former friend of their parents who had betrayed them to their killer, Voldemort. “And there was another man… an old man… I can’t remember…”

“What were they talking about?” Chrys pressed. Harry hesitated. Her heartbeat quickened. “Harry…”

“They were talking about someone they had killed, a woman, I think, but I can’t remember her name—it’s all slipping away from me. And they were plotting to kill…” He hesitated. “…To kill someone else.”

“Us?” Chrys guessed. Harry grimaced.

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Uh-huh. Once when we were babies, at least twice in our first year, and at least once in our second,” she listed on her fingers. Harry nodded distractedly as he sat on her bed.

“Chrys… do you think our scars hurt just because I saw him in my dream?”

“Well…” She sat next to him. “Do you think it was just a dream?” He looked at her sharply.

“What do you mean?”

She chewed at her lip. “I don’t know… I was just thinking about Trelawney’s prediction.”

“Oh.” Harry’s brow furrowed. Last year, their Divination teacher had made an uncharacteristically realistic prediction, that a servant of the Dark Lord would escape and join him, to bring him back stronger than ever before. “Then… you think my dream was some sort of vision, or something? But that’s just… I mean, is that even possible?”

“No idea,” she admitted. “I have no idea how these scars work. Does anybody? Usually if I don’t know how something works, I’d ask Hermione, but…” Harry glanced at the birthday cards their friends Ron and Hermione had sent them this summer.

“ _Your scars hurt?_ ” He said, mimicking Hermione’s high-pitched panicked tone. “ _Harry—Chrys, that’s really serious… Write to Professor Dumbledore! And I’ll go and check_ Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions _… maybe there’s something about curse scars…_ ”

Chrys laughed slightly. “The scars aren’t common, but writing to Professor Dumbledore might not be a bad idea…”

Harry frowned. “But what would we write?”

“I don’t know… _Dear Professor Dumbledore, I don’t suppose you know why my scar hurt this morning. Hope you’re having a lovely holiday, Chrys._ ”

Harry snorted. “That’s just stupid,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead again.

She crossed her arms. “You have a better idea?”

Harry hesitated. “I guess we could try Ron…”

“ _Your scars hurt?_ ” Chrys said, mimicking Ron’s bemused voice. Harry’s lips twitched. “ _But… but You-Know-Who can’t be near you now, can he? I mean… you’d know, wouldn’t you? He’d be trying to do you in again, wouldn’t he? I dunno, mates, maybe curse scars always twinge a bit… I’ll ask dad_.”

“Mr. Weasley is very clever, but I doubt he knows anything about cursed scars in particular,” Harry thought. “ _And_ he would probably mention it to Mrs. Weasley.”

Chrys grimaced. “And Mrs. Weasley would fuss worse than Hermione.”

Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

“That’s the problem with telling Ron something like that—pretty soon the whole Weasley family would know.”

“Ginny is a good listener,” Chrys said, of the youngest Weasley sibling and only girl.

Harry shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. She barely speaks to me.”

“True…” Chrys said slowly. Ginny was shy around Harry, having fancied him since before she’d even met him.

“And Fred and George would think we’ve lost our nerve,” Harry figured, speaking of the Weasley twins, a couple years older than themselves. “What I’d really like is someone like…” Harry flushed slightly. “…Someone like a parent.” Her chest hurt.

“Harry…” She said softly.

He took a deep breath. “… An adult who I can talk to without feeling stupid, someone who cares about me, who has experience with Dark Magic—” He blinked and then broke into a smile. “It’s so simple—I’ll write to Sirius.” Sirius Black was Harry’s godfather.

Chrys looked at him. “Well, I’m sure Sirius would be happy to hear from you… but if it’s about the Dark Arts, wouldn’t it be better to write to Remus?”

Remus Lupin had been their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher last year. At the end of the year Chrys found out he was her godfather. They had exchanged a few letters since, and each time she read them she felt warm inside.

Harry frowned. “I don’t know… I mean, Professor Lupin is great, and he knows his stuff—and I know he’s your godfather, Chrys… but I can’t help thinking of him as a teacher. And it would feel weird to talk to a teacher about something like this.”

“Oh.” Chrys wilted slightly. “Okay. I—I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything…” Harry considered her.

“Look, maybe we’re overreacting, it could just be a nightmare and a headache,” he said. She raised her eyebrow at him. “I’ll mention it casually to Sirius, and if he thinks it’s something to worry about, then we’ll write to Lupin—All right?”

Chrys nodded. “All right.” She yawned. He studied her again.

“…Have you slept at all tonight?”

“…No,” she admitted. “But I might be too nervous to sleep.”

“Give it a try,” he suggested.

In a couple of hours, Harry woke her up for breakfast.

Or, what was currently considered breakfast in the Dursley household.

“Is this it?” Uncle Vernon asked.

Chrys frowned down at the piece of grapefruit Aunt Petunia put down on her plate. Then she looked around at the other plates. The Dursleys each had a quarter piece, while Aunt Petunia seemed to have split the last quarter up between Harry and Chrys.

Dudley eyed her piece hungrily, already having finished his own. Chrys inched her plate out of his reach. She supposed hunger was subjective. For most of his life, Dudley had always been allowed whatever he wanted—and he wanted a lot. It had gotten to the point where he took up two chairs at the table. His school nurse sent a note home saying he needed to go on a diet.

Dudley screamed and threw things, and Aunt Petunia cried, but for once put his health over his wants.

She also decided to show solidarity by putting them all on the diet.

Harry and Chrys had sometimes been locked in the cupboard under the stairs (where they used to sleep) without meals as a punishment. So, they were no strangers to lack of food, but over the past few years they had gotten used to three square meals at school.

When they told their friends about the diet, they’d received plenty of snacks. Mrs. Weasley’s were the best—big meat pies and an actually delicious fruitcake.

Then on their birthday they had received _five_ cakes—one from the Weasleys, one from Hermione, one from Hagrid, one from Remus, and another from Sirius.

The doorbell rang. Uncle Vernon got up to answer it. They could hear someone laughing outside. Uncle Vernon slammed the door and came stomping back.

“You two,” he barked at the twins. “In the living room.” Harry and Chrys exchanged a wary look. “Now!” Chrys took pity and handed Dudley her plate on her way out.

Uncle Vernon closed the sitting room door behind them.

“So…” He said, his face reddening. “So…” Harry opened his mouth, probably about to say something stupid. Chrys elbowed him. He cringed and shut his mouth. “This just arrived…” Uncle Vernon brandished a piece of purple paper at them. “…It’s about the two of you.”

Harry and Chrys exchanged a confused look. Everyone they knew used owls to send letters.

Uncle Vernon cleared his throat and read the letter, which was from Mrs. Weasley, who identified herself as Ron's mother, seeming to think that Uncle Vernon would have at least heard of Ron from the twins. She was writing to tell him that it was the Quidditch World Cup this Monday, and Mr. Weasley had managed to get tickets through work. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity (the first time Britain was hosting the Cup in 30 years!) so Mrs. Weasley really hoped Uncle Vernon would allow Harry and Chrys to come, and the Weasleys would be happy to host the twins for the rest of the summer afterwards. “ _P.S. I do hope we’ve put enough stamps on_.” Uncle Vernon pulled something out of his pocket. “Look at this!”

He held up an envelope, which was covered so completely in stamps that Mrs. Weasley'd had to write the Dursleys’ address in miniature.

Harry and Chrys pointedly did not look at each other.

“She did put enough stamps on, then,” Harry said, fighting back laughter.

“The postman noticed,” Uncle Vernon growled. “Very interested to know where this letter came from, he was. That’s why he rang the doorbell. Seemed to think it was _funny_.”

The twins waited as Uncle Vernon seethed.

“Er… can we go, then?” Harry asked after a while. Uncle Vernon’s brow furrowed.

He looked down at the letter again. “Who is this woman?” He asked, sounding disgusted.

“You’ve seen her,” Harry told him. “She’s our friend Ron’s mother. She was meeting him off the Hog—”

“—Off the train from school,” Chrys interrupted him. Harry shot her a grateful look. He had almost said ‘Hogwarts Express.’ The name of their school was kind of taboo in this house.

Uncle Vernon’s face screwed up. “Dumpy sort of woman?” He asked. Harry frowned. “Load of children with red hair?” Uncle Vernon glanced through the letter. “Quidditch… Quidditch… what is this rubbish?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a sport. Played on broom—”

“All right!” Uncle Vernon said loudly. He looked over the letter again, his lips moving. His brow furrowed again. “What does she mean _the normal way?”_

“Normal for us,” Harry said. “You know, owl post. That’s what’s normal for us.”

Chrys shot Harry a look. Uncle Vernon went very red and started shaking. He looked out the window nervously.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to mention that unnaturalness under my roof?” He hissed. “You stand there, in the clothes Petunia and I have put on your ungrateful backs—”

“Only after you’re finished with them.” Harry'd had to stab extra holes in Dudley’s old belt to hold up his jeans. His sweatshirt fell past his knees. Meanwhile, Chrys had started to grow over the summer. Skinny Aunt Petunia’s hand-me-downs pinched in all the wrong places.

“I will not be spoken to like that!” Uncle Vernon spat. Harry straightened up, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“Harry—” Chrys warned. He shook his head.

“Chrys—I’m done with following their rules.” He took a deep breath and looked Uncle Vernon straight in the bulging eyes. “Are you done? I’ve got a letter to Sirius I need to finish—you know, my godfather.” Uncle Vernon froze.

“You—you’re writing to him, are you?”

“Yeah, well…” Harry shrugged. “It’s been a while since he heard from me, and, you know, if he doesn’t he might start to think something’s wrong.”

Chrys tried not to smile as Uncle Vernon struggled to think. Harry had casually mentioned the fact that his godfather was a convicted murderer (conveniently leaving out the part that he was innocent) at the start of the summer, and had been bringing him up again whenever Uncle Vernon got particularly difficult.

“…Well, all right then,” he grunted. “You can go to this ruddy… this stupid World Cup thing. You write and tell these—these _Weasleys_ they’re to pick you up, mind. I haven’t got time to go dropping you off all over the country. And you can spend the rest of the summer there. And you can tell your—your godfather… tell him… tell him you’re going.”

Harry grinned. “Okay, then!”

As Chrys closed their bedroom door, Harry jumped into the air.

“Yes!”

Chrys laughed. Hedwig hooted. Chrys turned to their owl.

“Hi, how was your hunt?”

Hedwig looked towards the window. There was something small and grey hovering outside. Harry opened the window wider and the fluff ball came zipping inside.

“Ouch!” Harry said as the ball smacked him on the head.

“Oh, that’s the owl Sirius gave Ron,” Chrys recalled. Harry rubbed his head. She bent down and picked up the letter the owl had dropped. She read it aloud. “ _Harry—Dad got the tickets! —Ireland versus Bulgaria, Monday night. Mum’s writing to the Muggles to ask you and Chrys to stay. They might already have the letter. I don’t know how fast Muggle post is. Thought I’d send this with Pig anyway.”_

Harry stared at the owl, which was now bumping against the ceiling like a bug in a jar.

“I’ve never seen anything that looked less like a pig,” he thought.

Chrys smiled. “Wait, there’s more… _We’re coming for you whether the Muggles like it or not—_ good old Ron— _you can’t miss the World Cup, only mum and dad reckon it’s better if we pretend to ask their permission first. If they say yes, send Pig back with your answer pronto, and we’ll come and get you at five o’clock on Sunday. If they say no, send Pig back pronto and we’ll come and get you at five o’clock on Sunday anyway.”_ They laughed. _“Hermione’s arriving this afternoon—_ oh! Excellent! — _Percy’s started work—the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Don’t mention anything about Abroad while you’re here unless you want the pants bored off you. See you soon, Ron._ ” She looked up at Harry, who was trying to catch the owl. She laughed again. “Aren’t you supposed to be the best Gryffindor seeker in a hundred years?” Harry played seeker on their house Quidditch team. The seeker was responsible for catching a small fluttering object called the snitch.

“Shut up, Chrys.” The owl hooted happily as it flew out of his grasp. He groaned. “Calm down! Come here, I need you to take my answer back!”

Chrys walked over to the desk and pulled a box of owl treats out of the drawer. Hedwig looked up expectantly. Chrys gave her one, stroking her beak for a moment before rattling the box. “Come here, Pig!” The owl swooped over and landed on top of Hedwig’s cage. Hedwig stared at him. Chrys gave him a treat as Harry scrawled down a note. While the owl was distracted, Harry grabbed him. It took their combined effort to attach the note to his leg. He appeared to be vibrating with excitement. As soon as they let go, the owl was zipped off out the window.

They said goodbye to Hedwig as well, as she went to deliver Harry’s letter to Sirius.

“We’ll be at Ron’s when you get back, alright?” Harry told her. Hedwig hooted and nipped gently at his fingers. Harry watched her fly off as Chrys pried open the loose floorboard.

“What flavor do you want?” She asked, holding up two of the leftover birthday cakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I am going to be posting Book 4 at the same time on ff.net and here. Hopefully it will be updated weekly on Mondays, however, I haven't written all the chapters yet, so it might slow down at some point.  
> Also, I am struggling with re-writing certain sections, particularly those with a lot of necessary exposition, so, if anyone has any tips on that, let me know.


	2. Of Waiting and Weasleys

Harry and Chrys spent the rest of the day and most of the next packing and cleaning. Chrys threw away the pile of broken quills she’d found under her bed. Harry wiped down the space under the loose floorboard so that the crumbs didn’t attract mice while they were gone.

They finished just before lunch.

“I hope you told them to dress properly, these people,” Uncle Vernon said, glancing in the mirror and adjusting his most expensive tie. “I’ve seen the sort of stuff your lot wear. They’d better have the decency to put on normal clothes, that’s all.”

Harry and Chrys shared a nervous look. The younger Weasleys sometimes wore Muggle clothing when school robes weren’t required, but Chrys had never seen Mr. or Mrs. Weasley wear anything other than wizarding robes.

They sat down at the table as Aunt Petunia put out plates of cottage cheese and celery. No one complained. Dudley ate his food quietly. The last time he had met a wizard, Hagrid had given him a pig’s tail. When he stood up, Dudley walked with his back to the wall and both of his hands clenched over his bottom. Chrys and Harry had to look away from each other before they burst into laughter.

Aunt Petunia followed her son into the living room, shooting daggers at the twins on her way out. Out of habit, Chrys picked up their plates and put them in the sink.

“Well, I’ll just—”

“They’ll be driving, of course?” Uncle Vernon said suddenly. Chrys froze.

“Er…” Harry said. Two years ago, Mr. Weasley’s flying car had become sentient and went off to live somewhere in the Forbidden Forest near their school. “I think so.”

Uncle Vernon snorted.

“I mean, Mr. Weasley borrowed cars from work to get us to the station last year,” Harry recalled as they went back upstairs to wait.

“Yeah, but that was only because the Ministry thought Sirius was trying to kill us,” Chrys pointed out. Despite still thinking Sirius was a mass murderer on the loose, Minister of Magic Fudge had actually lessened security since Sirius’ most recent escape at the end of last term. Chrys thought maybe Fudge didn’t want to draw too much attention to how badly he’d handled things.

“…Right.”

They came back downstairs at a quarter to five. Chrys sat on the bottom step and watched the front door… At ten minutes past five, Uncle Vernon came out of the living room.

He opened the front door, looked around, and then shut it again.

“They’re late!” He barked.

“I know,” Harry said. “Maybe… er… traffic’s bad or something.” Chrys frowned.

At a half past five, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon started complaining about how rude the Weasleys were in hushed voices.

Harry jumped up as Uncle Vernon suddenly shouted out. Dudley came running out of the living room, holding his bottom tightly.

“What happened?” Harry asked him.

“What’s the matter?” Chrys asked.

Dudley ran into the kitchen without answering. Harry and Chrys went for the living room.

Noises were coming from the fireplace, which had been boarded up after a certain incident with letters… “What is it?” Aunt Petunia gasped, backing up against the wall. “What is it, Vernon?”

“Ouch!” Mr. Weasley's voice came from inside the fireplace. “Fred, no—go back, there’s been some kind of mistake—tell George not to—ouch! George, no, there’s no room, go back quickly and tell Ron—”

Chrys laughed. She couldn’t help it. The fireplace quieted for a moment as the Dursleys turned to glare suspiciously at her. And then…

“Chrys?” Fred called out. “Dad, maybe they can hear us!” The boards shook and thudded.

“What is this?” Uncle Vernon roared at Chrys. “What’s going on, girl?”

“They—they’ve tried to get here by Floo powder,” Harry explained, trying not to laugh. “They can travel by fire, only, you’ve blocked the fireplace. Hang on.” He moved closer to the fireplace. “Mr. Weasley? Can you hear me?” The hammering stopped. Someone shushed the others. “Mr. Weasley, it’s Harry—the fireplace has been blocked up. You won’t be able to get through there.”

“Damn!” Mr. Weasley said. “What on earth did they want to block up the fireplace for?”

“It’s a long story,” Chrys said, trying not to laugh again.

“Well, they don’t need it, anyway, they’ve got an electric fire,” Harry added.

“Really?” Mr. Weasley said excitedly. “Eclectic, you say? With a _plug?_ Gracious, I must see that… let’s think… ouch, Ron!”

“What are we doing here?” Ron asked. “Has something gone wrong?”

“Oh no, Ron,” Fred said sarcastically. “No, this is exactly where we wanted to end up.”

Chrys smiled slightly.

“Yeah, we’re having the times of our lives here,” George said, his voice muffled like his face was squashed against the wall.

“Boys, boys,” Mr. Weasley said distractedly. “I’m trying to think of what to do…”

“Mr. Weasley, do you need some help?” Chrys asked. “I can find a hammer or something…”

Uncle Vernon frowned. “Now wait just a minute—”

“No thank you, Chrys,” Mr. Weasley said. “I think I’ll have to… yes… that’s the only way. Stand back, you two.”

Harry and Chrys moved to the other side of the room where Aunt Petunia stood, but Uncle Vernon stepped forward.

“Now wait a moment!” He shouted. “What exactly are you going to—”

The fireplace exploded.

The electric fire shot across the room and embedded itself in the wall. The Weasleys stepped over the splintered wood, waving clouds of dust out of their faces. Aunt Petunia fainted. Chrys, who was closest, caught her awkwardly.

“That’s better,” Mr. Weasley said, brushing dust off of his robes and straightening his glasses. He spotted the Dursleys. “Ah, you must be Chrys and Harry’s aunt and uncle!” He moved forward to shake Uncle Vernon’s hand. Uncle Vernon ripped his wife away from Chrys and dragged her away from the wizards, gaping at the empty hole where his fireplace had been. Mr. Weasley turned and looked at it. “Er—yes—sorry about that. It’s all my fault. It just didn’t occur to me that we wouldn’t be able to get out at the other end. I had your fireplace connected to the Floo Network, you see—just for an afternoon, you know, so we could get Chrys and Harry. Muggle fireplaces aren’t meant to be connected, strictly speaking, but I’ve got a useful contact at the Floo Regulation Panel, and he fixed it for me. I can put it right in a jiffy, though—don’t worry. I’ll light a fire to send the children back, and then I can repair your fireplace before I Disapparate.”

Aunt Petunia woke and stood wobbly. She spotted Mr. Weasley and shrieked, hiding behind her bulky husband.

Mr. Weasley frowned. “Hello!” Chrys said. “It’s great to see all of you!” She gave Ron a hug, which he returned with one arm.

“Hello, Chrys!” Mr. Weasley replied brightly. “Harry!” He clapped him on the shoulder and smiled. “Got your trunks ready?”

“Upstairs,” Harry said, grinning back.

“I’ll get them,” Chrys said, catching Harry’s eye. He nodded slightly, clearly agreeing that the Weasleys and the Dursleys probably shouldn’t be left alone together.

“We’ll help,” Fred said, looping his arm with hers and heading for the door. George took her other arm. She frowned suspiciously at them as they got into the hallway.

“What are you up to?” She asked. Fred and George blinked identically at her.

“What do you mean?” George said innocently. Fred glanced around the hall, eyes pausing on a wall of Dudley’s baby pictures. Chrys smiled suddenly.

“Oh. That’s what you’re up to. You were hoping to see Dudley…” She untangled herself from them and started up the stairs. They followed.

“All right, you caught us,” George said, opening the door to her bedroom. It was impressive that he remembered where it was, Chrys thought. After all, he’d only been here once, in the dead of night, two years ago. “After everything Harry’s told us about him, we were curious…” Chrys frowned. She wondered exactly how much Harry had said about Dudley. The bullying wasn’t something Harry was usually comfortable talking about.

Fred looked at the window.

“The bars are still gone, I see.” He nodded approvingly. Two years ago, Chrys and Harry had been locked in their room with bars on the window, and a cat flap on the door for food. Ron, Fred, and George had broken them out.

“Yeah…” Chrys said, feeling shy all of a sudden.

“This it, then?” George said, picking up Harry’s trunk. Chrys nodded.

Fred picked up her trunk.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” She reached to take it from him. “I can carry my own stuff.”

Fred shook his head. “I said we’d help.”

Chrys frowned. “I don’t need—”

“We should probably get going,” George said. “Dad’ll be wondering what’s keeping us.”

“Fine.” She let out a breath and grabbed Hedwig’s cage.

When they got back into the living room, Dudley was attempting to hide behind his parents. Of course, Dudley’s body was wider than both of them put together. Fred and George spotted him and grinned.

Dudley whimpered and clutched his bottom.

Mr. Weasley looked at him, concerned.

“He’ll be all right,” Chrys told him. “He’s just scared of magic, and sad cause he’s on a diet.”

Fred and George glanced at each other, looking rather like cartoon characters with light bulbs going off over their heads.

“Ah.” Mr. Weasley looked away from Dudley. “Right. Better get cracking, then.” He pulled his wand out of his sleeve. The Dursleys backed up. Mr. Weasley pointed his wand at what was left of the fireplace. “ _Incendio!”_ A fire burst to life. Mr. Weasley took out a drawstring bag and pinched something out with his fingers. He threw the pinch into the fire—the flames turned green and rose higher.

“Never gets old,” Chrys thought, having only seen Floo powder used once before.

Harry nodded. Mr. Weasley smiled slightly. “Off you go then, Fred.”

“Coming.” Brightly colored toffees fell out of his pocket, scattering everywhere. “Oh no—hang on—” Fred put down Chrys’ trunk and ran around picking up the sweets. He shoved them back in his pocket and grabbed the trunk again. Then he waved at the Dursleys and stepped into the fire. Aunt Petunia gasped. “The Burrow!”

Fred disappeared. “Right then,” Mr. Weasley said. “George next.”

Harry helped George turn the trunk so it was easier to hold.

“The Burrow!” George repeated, vanishing into the flames.

“Ron, you next,” Mr. Weasley continued.

“See you,” Ron said cheerfully, grinning at the Potters before he left.

“Well…” Harry glanced over the Dursleys, still cowering in the corner. “Bye then.”

Chrys turned to Harry. “We’d better go together—don’t want you to get lost again.”

Harry groaned. “That was _one time_!”

“Yeah, and this is only the second time we’re using the Floo,” Chrys pointed out.

“Chrys, you don’t have to baby me,” Harry complained, stepping up to the hearth.

Mr. Weasley put a hand on his shoulder. He was staring at the Dursleys with an odd expression on his face.

“Your nephew said goodbye to you,” he said. “Didn’t you hear him?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry told him quietly. “Honestly, I don’t care.”

“You aren’t going to see him till next summer,” Mr. Weasley said to Uncle Vernon. “Surely you’re going to say goodbye.” Uncle Vernon clenched his jaw.

His eyes flickered to the wand in Mr. Weasley’s hand.

“Goodbye, then,” he grunted.

“See you.” Harry stepped into the fire and vanished. Chrys was about to follow him when someone started gagging.

Aunt Petunia screamed.

Chrys turned and saw Dudley leaning on the coffee table, choking on something purple and slimy protruding from his mouth. Chrys dropped Hedwig’s cage. Then she saw the brightly colored wrapper on the floor in front of him.

Mr. Weasley spotted it as well.

“Ah,” he said shortly.

Aunt Petunia hurled herself at her son, pulling at the purple thing—which Chrys now realized was his grossly engorged tongue. Dudley spluttered harder and tried to push her away. Uncle Vernon shouted unintelligibly and waved his arms around.

Chrys turned to Mr. Weasley. “Er…?”

“Not to worry!” Mr. Weasley shouted over the commotion. “I can sort him out!” He moved towards them with his wand up. Aunt Petunia screamed and attempted to shield Dudley with her body. “No, really! It’s a simple process—it was the toffee—my son Fred—real practical joker—but it’s only an Engorgement Charm—at least, I think it is—please, I can correct it—”

Aunt Petunia was crying now, still pulling at Dudley’s tongue. Uncle Vernon picked a china figure up off the sideboard and chucked it at Mr. Weasley.

“Hey!” Chrys shouted as Mr. Weasley ducked.

“Now really!” Mr. Weasley said, becoming angry. “I’m trying to _help_!”

Uncle Vernon started throwing more china figurines. Mr. Weasley stepped in front of Chrys and blocked one with a wave of his wand. “Chrys, go! Just go!”

“But—” Chrys started, staring at Dudley.

“Go! I’ll sort this out.” Mr. Weasley basically pushed her into the fireplace.

Chrys only just remembered to shout, “The Burrow!” as the warm flames surrounded her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying as safe and healthy as possible in these times. If you are in social isolation and bored, and like The Hobbit, I might be putting up some older fics of mine once I finished editing them.


	3. Of Brothers at the Burrow

Chrys hugged herself, her stomach lurching as the space around her twisted. Then, everything went still and she fell forward. Harry caught her just before she hit the Weasley family kitchen floor.

“What took you?” He smiled nervously. “ _You_ get lost this time?”

“No.” Chrys straightened up and frowned at Fred, who was watching her eagerly. “What was that thing?”

“So he ate it, then?” Fred asked. Chrys nodded. His eyes gleamed. “It’s a Ton-Tongue Toffee. George and I invented them, and we’ve been looking for someone to test them on all summer—”

The kitchen burst into laughter. Chrys looked around and saw Ron, George, and two others sitting at the table. She recognized the two eldest Weasley brothers from family photos, but wasn’t sure which was which.

“How are you doing, Chrys?” One of them asked, shaking her hand. His skin was rough with calluses and blisters. He was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt that showed off his muscular arms. One of his arms had a shiny pink burn on it.

“You must be Charlie,” she realized. She bounced slightly on the balls of her feet. “It’s so cool that you work with dragons!” Charlie grinned.

“I couldn't agree more. Now if only we could convince mum.”

“I doubt it,” the other brother said, standing up to shake her hand as well. The only brother left was Bill. Bill worked for Gringotts, the wizarding bank, and had been Head Boy at school, so Chrys had expected him to be like his brother Percy, snooty and strict. But Bill looked exactly like the sort of person Aunt Petunia would turn her nose up at in the street, which made Chrys like him instantly. He had long hair pulled up into a ponytail, and wore an earring with a fang hanging off of it. She was also pretty sure that his boots were made out of dragon hide, which made her wonder what Charlie thought of that.

Before she could ask, Mr. Weasley appeared in the room with a pop.

“That wasn’t funny, Fred!” He shouted. Harry jumped slightly at the volume of his voice. “What on earth did you give that Muggle boy?”

Fred grinned evilly. “I didn’t give him anything. I just dropped it. It was his fault he went and ate it. I never told him to.”

“You dropped it on purpose!” Mr. Weasley continued. “You knew he’d eat it, you knew he was on a diet—”

“How big did his tongue get?” George asked excitedly.

“It was four feet long before his parents would let me shrink it!” Mr. Weasley said. Everyone laughed, except for him and Chrys, who frowned thoughtfully. “It isn’t funny! That sort of behavior seriously undermines wizard-Muggle relations! I spend half my life campaigning against the mistreatment of Muggles, and my own sons—”

“We didn’t give it to him because he’s a Muggle!” Fred said indignantly.

“No, we gave it to him because he’s a great bullying git,” George said. “Isn’t that right, Harry?”

“Yeah, he is, Mr. Weasley,” Harry said truthfully.

“That’s not the point!” Mr. Weasley glared at his sons. “You wait until I tell your mother—”

“Tell me what?”

Mr. Weasley froze.

“…Er… hello, Mrs. Weasley,” Chrys said, breaking the tense silence.

“Oh hello, Chrys, dear. Harry.” Mrs. Weasley’s eyes were still glued to her husband. “Tell me _what_ , Arthur?”

Mr. Weasley hesitated. Fred and George eyed their dad nervously.

And then two more people walked in. “Hermione, Ginny!” Chrys said happily, running to hug them. As they drew apart, Hermione waved at Harry, who waved back and smiled at them. Ginny blushed.

“Tell me _what_ , Arthur?” Mrs. Weasley repeated.

“It’s nothing, Molly,” Mr. Weasley mumbled. “Fred and George just… but I’ve had words with them—”

“What have they done this time?” Mrs. Weasley rested her hands on her hips. “If it’s got anything to do with Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes—”

“Why don’t we show Harry and Chrys where they’re sleeping, Ron?” Hermione said.

“They know where they’re sleeping,” Ron said. “They’ve been here be—”

“We can all go,” Hermione said pointedly.

“Oh.” Ron blinked. “Right.” Ron and Harry moved towards them.

“Yeah, we’ll come too,” George said quickly.

“You stay where you are!” Mrs. Weasley hissed. The others rushed out of the room. Bill and Charlie cut off to the garden while the rest of them headed upstairs.

“What are Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes?” Harry asked as they climbed.

Ginny and Ron laughed. Hermione frowned.

“Mum found this stack of order forms when she was cleaning Fred and George’s room,” Ron said quietly. “Great long price lists for stuff they’ve invented. Joke stuff, you know. Fake wands and trick sweats—loads of stuff. It was brilliant, I never knew they’ve been inventing all that…”

“We’ve been hearing explosions out of their room for ages, but we never thought they were actually _making_ things,” Ginny said. “We thought they just liked the noise.” Chrys laughed.

And then she frowned. “I mean, I’m all for jokes—but that toffee thing could’ve gone bad,” she thought. “If your dad hadn’t been there to fix it, Dudley could’ve…”

“Yeah… most of the stuff—all of it, really, was a bit dangerous,” Ron admitted. “And, you know, they were planning to sell it at Hogwarts to make some money, and mum went mad at them. Told them they weren’t allowed to make any more of it, and burned all the order forms… she’s furious at them anyway. They didn’t get as many O.W.L.s as she expected.”

“Well, they did study very hard,” Chrys said defensively.

“But only at last moment,” Hermione pointed out. “They could do a lot better if they applied themselves…” She shot Chrys a look. Hermione had said the same thing about her several times.

Chrys shrugged.

“It’s not just the O.W.Ls or the jokes… it’s more their whole attitude,” Ginny thought. “There was this big row, because mum wants them to go into the Ministry of Magic like dad, and they told her all they want to do is open a joke shop.”

A door opened on the second floor landing as they passed.

“Hi, Percy,” Harry said, as Percy stuck his head out to glare at them.

“Oh, hello, Harry. Chrysanthemum.” He nodded stiffly at them. “I was wondering who was making all the noise. I’m trying to work in here, you know—I’ve got a report to finish for the office—and it’s rather difficult to concentrate when people keep thundering up and down the stairs.”

“We’re not _thundering_ ,” Ron argued. “We’re walking. Sorry if we’ve disturbed the top-secret workings of the Ministry of Magic.”

Harry’s ears perked up at the words ‘top-secret,’ perhaps not noticing Ron’s sarcastic tone.

“What are you working on?”

“A report for the Department of International Magical Cooperation,” Percy said proudly. Ron and Ginny rolled their eyes. “We’re trying to standardize cauldron thickness. Some of these foreign imports are just a shade too thin—leakages have been increasing at a rate of almost three percent per year—”

“That’ll change the world, that report will,” Ron said. “Front page of the _Daily Prophet_ , I expect, cauldron leaks.” Ginny’s lips twitched.

Percy’s ears went pink. “You might sneer, Ron, but unless some sort of international law is imposed we might well find the market flooded with flimsy, shallow-bottomed products that seriously endanger—”

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Ron said, starting up the stairs again. Percy slammed his door shut. Mrs. Weasley’s shouts suddenly rang out from below.

“He must have told her,” Harry figured.

They stopped at the top of the house where Ron’s room was. Harry looked around happily at the Quidditch posters on the walls.

“Well, hello again,” Chrys said, crouching down next to the small cage where Ron’s small owl was buzzing around madly.

“Shut up, Pig,” Ron grunted. He squeezed between the four beds in the room. “Fred and George are in here with us, because Bill and Charlie are in their room. Percy gets to keep his room to himself because he’s got to _work_.”

“Er…” Harry stared at the owl. “Why are you calling that owl Pig?”

“Because he’s being stupid,” Ginny said. “Its proper name is Pigwidgeon.”

“Yeah, and that’s not a stupid name at all,” Ron said. He turned to Harry. “Ginny named him. She reckons it’s sweet. And I tried to change it, but it was too late, he won’t answer to anything else. So now he’s Pig. I’ve got to keep him up here because he annoys Errol and Hermes. He annoys me too, come to that.”

“Yeah… he’s a bit like Chrys on a sugar high,” Harry thought. Chrys elbowed him. Harry stared thoughtfully at the owl and then turned to Hermione. “Where’s Crookshanks?”

Crookshanks was Hermione’s giant ginger cat.

“Out in the garden, I expect,” she said. “He likes chasing gnomes. He’s never seen any before.” Harry sat on one of the beds.

“Percy’s enjoying work, then?” He watched the Quidditch players zoom around in the posters on the ceiling.

“Enjoying it?” Ron said. “I don’t reckon he’d come home if dad didn’t make him. He’s obsessed. Just don’t get him onto the subject of his boss. _According to Mr. Crouch… as I was saying to Mr. Crouch… Mr. Crouch is of the opinion… Mr. Crouch was telling me_ … they’ll be announcing their engagement any day now.”

“Did you have a good summer, Harry?” Hermione asked, ignoring Ron. “Chrys? Did you get our food parcels and everything?”

“Yeah, thank a lot.” Harry smiled. “You’re a lifesaver. You both are.”

“I liked the cakes, especially,” Chrys added.

“And have you heard from—” Ron cut off at a sharp look from Hermione. They were the only people besides Dumbledore and Remus who knew Sirius was innocent. Ginny looked suspiciously from Ron to Harry.

“Speaking of cake,” Chrys said awkwardly. “When is dinner?”

“Dunno…” Ron said. “I mean, mum usually starts cooking around now.”

“Well, I think they’ve stopped arguing,” Hermione said. “Shall we go down and help your mum with dinner?”

“Yeah, all right.”

Mrs. Weasley was alone in the kitchen. She looked up as they came in.

“We’re eating out in the garden—there’s just not enough room for twelve people in here. Could you take the plates outside, girls? Bill and Charlie are setting up the tables.” The girls nodded and picked the plates up from the counter.

Fred and George were carrying over a couple of folding chairs.

“Still alive, I see,” Ginny said dryly.

“Just about,” Fred muttered.

“Unless we’ve become ghosts,” George added. Fred aimed a kick at his shin. George dodged him, laughing, and dropped his chairs.

“Nope, seems pretty solid to me.” Fred grinned.

Chrys passed her plates to Hermione and helped George pick up the chairs.

“Thanks, Chrys.”

Hermione shook her head. “Honestly,” she said, continuing into the garden.

Ginny shrugged and followed her. Chrys frowned at Fred.

“What?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“You could’ve killed Dudley.”

“Come off it!” Fred snapped. “It wouldn’t have killed him.”

“You don’t know that, you were still testing it,” Chrys pointed out. “He couldn’t breath.”

Fred frowned. “Harry said that fat lump’s been bullying you two since you were kids. I had some toffees on me, and he was on a diet—you expect me to pass up a golden opportunity like that?”

Chrys let out a breath. “Look, Dudley is a horrible person—a great target for a prank… but he doesn’t deserve to die. Okay?”

“Fine. We’ll lower the dose,” Fred said. George nodded.

“We know it still needs some work. Sorry we almost killed your cousin.”

Chrys softened somewhat. “Fine…” The three of them started towards the garden. “But I expect some excellent merchandise when you’ve finished it. What else are you cooking up?”

Fred and George grinned.

Bill and Charlie were levitating tables over to an open area in the garden.

“Oi, watch it!” Charlie said. The tables banged into each other in the air. Bill grinned.

“Bet I can knock yours out of the air.”

“Oh, you’re on!”

And then suddenly Charlie and Bill were bashing the tables against each other.

Fred and George cheered. Ginny and Chrys laughed.

“Oh, they really shouldn’t…” Hermione said, smiling nervously.

Bill knocked one of the legs of off Charlie’s table.

There was another loud bang above them. They looked up. Percy had slammed his shutters open and was glaring down at them.

“Will you keep it down!”

“Sorry, Perce.” Bill grinned at him. “How’re the cauldron bottoms coming along?”

“Very badly,” Percy said, slamming the shutters closed again. Bill and Charlie lowered their tables. Bill reattached the leg with a flick of his wand, and then conjured several tablecloths out of nowhere.

“Hmmm…” Hermione said, looking impressed.

Dinner was filled with varied food and conversation all at once.

“As good as the cake was,” Harry said, piling chicken onto his plate. “This is much better.”

“Well, it was getting a little stale,” Chrys agreed, helping herself to some potatoes.

Ron rolled his eyes as Percy bragged vaguely about another top-secret project his department was working on. “Probably an exhibition of thick-bottomed cauldrons.”

Chrys smiled slightly, a bit distracted by Mrs. Weasley, who was arguing with Bill about his earring. “…With a horrible great fang on it.”

“What kind of fang is it?” Chrys wondered. Bill smiled.

“A baby dragon tooth. The baby teeth fall out when they get older, and Charlie has this friend who makes jewelry with them. He thought I might like it.”

“It’s cool,” Chrys thought. “I wonder how I’d look with one…” Ginny giggled. “But my ears aren’t pierced…”

“They have necklaces and bracelets too, you could ask Charlie,” Bill said. Mrs. Weasley looked from Bill to Chrys.

“Don’t you dare—as if one of you isn’t enough! Really, Bill, what do they say at the bank?”

“Mum, no one at the bank gives a damn how I dress as long as I bring home plenty of treasure,” Bill said calmly.

“And you hair’s getting silly, dear,” Mrs. Weasley continued, fingering her wand. “I wish you’d let me give it a trim…”

“I like it,” Ginny said. “You’re so old-fashioned, mum. Anyway, it’s nowhere near as long as Professor Dumbledore’s…” Chrys laughed.

Ginny turned to join the conversation about the World Cup.

Chrys got bored and offered to help Mrs. Weasley clean up. Percy took the lead, levitating a long line of dirty dishes into the kitchen. Chrys balanced the few bowls of leftovers in her arms as Mrs. Weasley eyed her nervously.

Dessert was freshly made strawberry ice cream, which Chrys praised so heartily that she could see Mrs. Weasley blush in the candlelight.

Chrys stole the rest of Harry’s as he watched Crookshanks chase a gnome through the garden. Ron noticed and snorted. Chrys put a finger to her lips. Ron shook his head. Then he looked left and right and leaned in.

“So— _have_ you heard from Sirius?”

Hermione glanced around too.

“Yes,” Harry told them in a whisper. “Twice. He sounds okay. I wrote to him yesterday…” He and Chrys exchanged a brief look. She could tell he’d just decided not to tell their friends about the dream or their scars hurting. “He might write back while I’m here.”

Mrs. Weasley stood up again, looking at her wristwatch.

“Look at the time. You really should be in bed—the whole lot of you. You’ll be up at the crack of dawn to get the Cup. Chrys, Harry, if you leave your school lists out I’ll get your things for you tomorrow in Diagon Alley. I’m getting everyone else’s. There might not be time after the World Cup. The match went on for five days last time.”

Chrys made a face, but Harry grinned. “Wow—hope it does this time!”


	4. Of Hiking and Hills

Chrys was sketching when Mrs. Weasley popped her head into Ginny’s room the next morning. Mrs. Weasley blinked.

“Oh, Chrys dear—you’re already awake.”

“Hmm…” Chrys nodded and stretched.

“Well, if you three could get dressed, I put up some porridge for you to eat before you leave.”

“Right,” Chrys said. “Thanks.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled at her briefly and then moved along upstairs.

Hermione rolled over, accidentally putting her weight on top of Crookshanks—who hissed and jumped on top of Ginny’s stomach.

Ginny groaned. “Five more minutes, mum…”

Chrys laughed quietly. She moved to her trunk and pulled out some clothes. She was buttoning on her blouse when it ripped.

“Not again!”

Hermione sat up. “What’s wrong, Chrys?” She rubbed at her eyes.

“Stupid shirt ripped,” Chrys grumbled, taking it off. Hermione yawned and got out of bed. She squinted at the offending item of clothing.

“…It’s a bit small.”

“Yeah. It’s not my fault my aunt’s built like a twig and I’m not. I mean, I used to be, but recently…” Chrys frowned down at herself.

“Well, what else do you have?” Hermione asked, rummaging through her trunk. She paused. “…Chrys, did all of these used to belong to your aunt?”

“…Yeah. I mean, all of the muggle stuff. I don’t really have any muggle money so…”

“You should get some money converted,” Hermione thought.

“Or… There’s a good second-hand shop in town that takes wizarding money,” Ginny said quietly. Chrys and Hermione jumped slightly, not having known she was awake. “It’s where mum gets all our stuff. I’ll show you if we have enough time before start of term…”

“And until then, I’ll lend you some of my things,” Hermione said decidedly. Chrys hesitated. “Come on, we’re about the same size anyway.”

Chrys spent the next fifteen minutes trying on Hermione’s clothes. Then Mrs. Weasley knocked on the door again.

“Girls! What is taking you so long?”

“Sorry, Mrs. Weasley!” Chrys called back. “We’re coming now.”

Ginny had fallen back asleep. They had to practically drag her downstairs.

“Why do we have to be up so early?” She complained as they sat down at the kitchen table with the boys.

“We’ve got a bit of a walk,” Mr. Weasley told her gently. Mrs. Weasley gave the girls each a bowl of porridge.

“Walk?” Harry repeated. “What, are we walking to the World Cup?”

“No, no.” Mr. Weasley smiled. “That’s miles away. We only need to walk a short way. It’s just that it’s very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention.” George stood up to put his bowl in the sink. “We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best of times, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup—”

“George!” Mrs. Weasley said suddenly.

“What?” George said innocently.

“What is that in your pocket?”

“Nothing!”

“Don’t you lie to me!” Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at him. “ _Accio!”_ Brightly colored sweets came soaring out of his pocket. Chrys frowned. George tried to grab them but Mrs. Weasley got to it first. “We told you to destroy them! We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!”

Mrs. Weasley used her summoning charm to find all of the toffees Fred and George had hidden on their persons (including the ones in the lining of George’s jacket and the turn-ups of Fred’s jeans).

“We spent six months developing those!” Fred protested as Mrs. Weasley chucked them in the bin.

“Oh, a fine way to spend six months!” Mrs. Weasley snapped. “No wonder you didn’t get more O.W.Ls.” The atmosphere was tense as Mrs. Weasley kissed them all goodbye—all except for Fred and George.

Fred and George sped out the door and along the dirt path at the front of the group.

“Don’t you start,” Fred warned as Chrys caught up to them.

Chrys ignored him. “What happened to changing the formula?” She asked George. “You can’t have done it that quickly.”

“Well, er…” George rubbed the back of his neck. “We will do it… it’s just… we spent so long working on these, so it’d be a shame to waste them.”

Chrys frowned. “What were you planning on doing with them?”

Fred pursed his lips. George glanced at him and then back at Chrys, who was looking expectantly at him. “… Some of our friends are going to be at the match, so they agreed to let us test the toffees on them. I mean—” He waved his hands wildly. “We’ve been testing them on ourselves, but we need a larger sample group to really figure out the effects.”

Chrys nodded slowly. “All right.”

George and Fred blinked. “All right?” Fred repeated. “What, you’re not going to tell us off?”

Chrys grinned. “I can if you want me to… but I reckon it’s fine if your friends agreed to it…” She squinted suspiciously. “They did agree to it, right? They know what they’re getting into?”

“They did and they do,” George assured her.

“Right. Well, let me know earlier next time, and I’ll help you sneak around your mum.”

George burst into laughter as Fred stared at her.

“You really are a Gryffindor,” Fred said admiringly. Chrys flushed.

“What are you three up to?” Ginny wondered as she came up behind them.

“Nothing,” they said in unison. Chrys laughed nervously.

“Right…” Ginny said, eyeing them.

“Slow down, will you?” Ron said, as he, Harry, and Mr. Weasley joined them. “Hermione’s fallen behind.” He glanced back down the path.

As they waited for her to catch up, Harry asked Mr. Weasley again about how they were getting to the match.

“For those who don’t want to Apparate, or can’t, we use Portkeys,” Mr. Weasley told him. “They’re objects that are used to transport wizards from one spot to another at a prearranged time.” Hermione caught up and they started on again. “You can do large groups at a time if you need to. There have been two hundred portkeys placed at strategic points around Britain, and the nearest one is up at the top of Stoatshead Hill, so that’s where we’re going.” Mr. Weasley pointed at a steady incline ahead of them.

“What sort of objects are portkeys?” Harry wondered.

“Well, they can be anything. Unobtrusive things, obviously, so muggles don’t go picking them up and playing with them… things they’ll just think is litter.”

Harry stopped asking questions as the hill got steeper. It was even harder work in the dark. Chrys swore as she stepped in a rabbit hole for the third time. Fred snickered.

“Here,” Harry said. She let out a little squeak as he took her hand in his and tugged her out.

“Your hands are freezing, Harry.”

“Yeah…” Harry blew into them and then rubbed them together.

They were all breathing heavily when they reached the top of the hill. Mr. Weasley wiped his glasses on his sweater.

“Whew… well, we’ve made good time—we’ve got ten minutes.”

“We’ve lost Hermione again,” Ron panted, looking around.

“There she is,” Ginny said as Hermione came over the top, clutching her side.

“Now we just need to find the portkey,” Mr. Weasley said, putting his glasses back on. “It won’t be big…come on…”

They had just started searching when a voice called out, “Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we’ve got it!”

“Amos!” Mr. Weasley said, moving towards the man on the other side of the hilltop. The man called Amos held up a moldy boot with one hand, and shook Mr. Weasley’s hand with his other. “This is Amos Diggory, everyone. He works for the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?”

“Hi,” Cedric said, smiling around at them. It was a dazzling smile. Everyone said ‘hi’ back, except for Fred and George who nodded stiffly.

Chrys rolled her eyes. Cedric Diggory was a seeker on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team at school. He’d beaten Gryffindor last year when Harry had fallen off his broom.

“Long walk, Arthur?” Amos asked.

“Not too bad,” Mr. Weasley said. “We live just on the other side of the village up there. You?”

“Had to get up at two, didn’t we, Ced? I’ll be glad when he’s got his apparition test. Still…not complaining… Quidditch World Cup—wouldn’t miss it for a sack full of Galleons—and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy…” Amos looked around at all the kids. Chrys frowned slightly. She knew the Weasleys weren’t that well off financially, and probably wouldn’t have been able to afford even a single ticket if a friend from work hadn’t given them to Mr. Weasley. “All these yours, Arthur?”

“Oh no, only the redheads,” Mr. Weasley said, pointing out the others. “This is Hermione, friend of Ron’s—and Harry and Chrys, also friends—”

“Merlin’s beard!” Amos stared at Harry and Chrys. “Harry and Chrysanthemum Potter?”

“Er, yeah,” Harry said, shuffling uncomfortably as the man’s eyes flickered to the scars on their foreheads.

“Ced’s talked about you, of course,” Amos said to Harry. “Told us all about playing against you last year… and I said to him, I said—Ced, that’ll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will… you beat Harry Potter!”

Fred and George bristled. Cedric looked nearly as uncomfortable as Harry.

“Harry fell off his broom, dad,” Cedric muttered. “I told you… it was an accident…”

“Yes, but _you_ didn’t fall off, did you?” Amos clapped him on the back. “Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman… but the best man won, I’m sure Harry’d say the same, wouldn’t you, eh?” Chrys scowled. She didn’t like Quidditch. It was too dangerous and too high off the ground—but Harry loved it, and he was damn good at it. “One falls off his broom, one stays on—you don’t need to be a genius to tell which one’s the better flier!”

Chrys opened her mouth.

“Must be nearly time,” Mr. Weasley said quickly, laying a hand on her shoulder. He checked his pocket watch. “Do you know whether we’re waiting for any more, Amos?”

“No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already, and the Fawcetts couldn’t get tickets,” Mr. Diggory told him. “There aren’t any more of us in this area, are there?”

“Not that I know of…” He checked his watch again. “Yes, it’s a minute off… We’d better get ready.” He looked at the Potters and Hermione. “You just need to touch the Portkey, that’s all, a finger will do.” Mr. Diggory held up the boot and they crowded around.

“Chrys, you’re stepping on my foot,” Ron grunted.

“Sorry.”

Harry looked at the group gathered around the boot in an unimpressed sort of way.

“Three…” Mr. Weasely said, still looking at his watch. “Two… _one_!”

It was worse than floo powder.

Chrys felt like she was being jerked forward by an invisible fishhook caught in her gut. She could feel Ron and Harry’s shoulders slamming into hers. The wind whipped around her. She wanted it to stop, but her finger was glued to the boot.

Finally, her feet slammed against the ground. She fell over immediately, face pressed into the grass and dirt.

“Are you going to be sick?” Harry asked concernedly.

“Think I’ll be fine,” she grunted, sitting up. Only Mr. Diggory, Mr. Weasley, and Cedric were still standing. Cedric offered her his hand.

“I nearly got sick my first time,” he said, helping her up. “Give it a minute and it’ll wear off.”

“Thanks,” she said, marveling at how his hair somehow looked even better swept back by the wind.


	5. Of Tents and Team Spirit

As the group straightened up, two men walked over to them.

“Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill?” The man in a tweed suit and thigh-high galoshes asked. Mr. Diggory nodded.

“That’s us,” he confirmed.

The second man (wearing a kilt and a poncho) checked something off a long roll of parchment.

“Morning, Basil.” Mr. Weasley handed the boot to the man in the poncho.

Basil threw it into a box with other assorted objects. Harry peeked inside.

“Hello there, Arthur,” Basil said tiredly. “Not on duty, eh? It’s all right for some… we’ve been here all night… you’d better get out of the way, we’ve got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five-fifteen. Hang on, I’ll find your campsite… Weasley…”

The Diggorys split from the rest of them as they went off to their respective campsites.

Mr. Weasley walked up to a cabin, nodding at the man standing in the doorway.

“Bet you he’s the only real muggle around here for acres,” Harry whispered to Chrys.

“Morning!” Mr. Weasley said brightly.

“Morning,” the muggle replied vaguely.

“Would you be Mr. Roberts?”

“Aye, I would. And who’re you?”

“Weasley. Two tents, booked a couple of days ago.”

“Aye.” Mr. Roberts consulted a list that was pined to the door. “You’ve got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?”

“That’s it,” Mr. Weasley confirmed.

“You’ll be paying now, then?” Mr. Roberts asked.

“Ah, right, certainly…” Mr. Weasley gave Harry a significant look and the two of them stepped off to the side. Mr. Weasley pulled out a roll of cash. Chrys could see Harry trying to explain it to him. Mr. Roberts was watching them as well.

“Nice weather, isn’t it?” Chrys said. Mr. Roberts blinked at her.

“Not really…” He eyed her suspiciously. “You foreign?” He asked Mr. Weasley as he came back and handed the money over.

“Foreign?” Mr. Weasley repeated, brow furrowing.

“You’re not the first who’s had trouble with money,” Mr. Roberts explained. “I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago.”

Hermione frowned. “Did you really?” Mr. Weasley asked nervously.

Mr. Roberts searched through a tin for some change.

“Never been this crowded…” He looked over the misty field. “Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up…”

“Is that right?” Mr. Weasley held his hand out for the change, but Mr. Roberts was still staring blankly into the distance.

“Aye. People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners—Weirdos, you know? There’s a bloke walking ‘round in a kilt and a poncho.”

“Shouldn’t he?” Mr. Weasley wondered. Ginny shot him a look. Hermione sucked in a breath.

“Maybe it’s a new fashion,” Chrys suggested unconvincingly.

But Mr. Roberts wasn’t paying them any attention.

“It’s like some sort of…. I dunno… like some sort of rally. They all seem to know each other. Like a big party.”

Just then, a wizard dressed for golfing appeared in front of them.

“ _Oblivate_!” He pointed his wand at Mr. Roberts. The muggle’s eyes grew glassy. Chrys recognized the spell, and the look on his face from her second year, when her Defense teacher had accidentally erased his own memory.

“A map of the campsite for you,” Mr. Roberts said to Mr. Weasley, handing it to him. “And your change.”

“Thank you very much,” Mr. Weasley said. The memory-modifying wizard followed them to the gate. He had dark circles under his eyes, and stubble on his chin.

“Been having trouble with him,” he told Mr. Weasley. “Needs a memory charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman’s not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-muggle security. Blimey, I’ll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur.”

“Aren’t memory charms dangerous?” Chrys asked Mr. Weasley.

“They can be,” he told her. “It requires a lot of focus to modify specific memories. And a spell that’s too powerful can cause permanent damage.”

“And shouldn’t Mr. Bagman know better than to talk about Bludgers near muggles?” Ginny thought, frowning. Hermione nodded.

“He should.” Mr. Weasley smiled slightly. “But Ludo’s always been a bit… well… _lax_ about security. You couldn’t wish for a more enthusiastic head of the sports department though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had.”

They moved between rows of tents… the wizards had about as much success with the concept of muggle tents as they did with muggle clothing.

Some of the tents had chimneys and weather veins. Harry and Chrys kept stopping in front of the particularly spectacular ones. There was a tent made of striped silk, with peacocks tethered in front of it. There was a three-storied tent with turrets, and another with a lush garden out front, complete with a birdbath, sundial, and fountain.

Hermione tutted and shooed them along.

“But it would made _such_ a good sketch,” Chrys whined.

Mr. Weasley chuckled. “Always the same.” He shook his head. “We can’t resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are.” He stopped in front of a spot on the edge of the woods, with a small sign hammered into the ground.

It said: _Wheezley_. “You do breathe a bit funny, maybe you should get more exercise,” Chrys said to Ron. Ron made a rude gesture at her.

Hermione frowned at him and opened her mouth.

“Couldn’t have a better spot!” Mr. Weasley said brightly. “The field is just on the other side of the wood there.” He heaved his pack off of his back and rested it on the ground. “Right. No magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we’re out in these numbers on Muggle land. We’ll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn’t be too difficult… muggles do it all the time… here…” Mr. Weasley started unpacking poles. “Where do you reckon we should start, Harry?”

“Er…” Harry said, looking at Chrys. They had never been camping before in their lives.

“Let’s give it a try,” Chrys said, shrugging.

Hermione and Harry did a good enough job together, but Chrys wasn’t good at following directions and Mr. Weasley was a little overenthusiastic. Hermione politely banished them off to the side when Mr. Weasley tried to hammer the pegs in and sent the hammer flying and Chrys collapsed laughing.

“There.” Hermione stepped back and wiped her forehead on the back of her hand. She and Harry exchanged a proud look. And then they frowned.

“Haven’t we got too many people?” Harry wondered. “With Bill, Charlie, and Percy that’ll be eleven people…”

Mr. Weasley got down on his knees and stuck his head into one of the tents.

“We’ll be a bit cramped, but I think we’ll all squeeze in. Come and have a look.”

Harry followed first. His jaw dropped as he straightened up inside the tent.

“It looks exactly like Mrs. Figgs’ house,” Chrys whispered to Harry, looking around at the three-room flat. She picked up one of the doilies on the back of the couch and made a face.

“Smells like Mrs. Figgs’ house too,” Harry whispered back, his nose wrinkling.

“Well, it’s not for long,” Mr. Weasley said. “I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn’t camp much anymore, poor fellow, he’s got lumbago.” He picked up a dusty kettle and peeked inside it. “We’ll need some water…”

“There’s a tap marked on the map the muggle gave us,” Ron said, looking it over. “It’s on the other side of the field.”

Mr. Weasley nodded. “Why don’t you four go and get us some water then…” He handed over the kettle and several saucepans. “And the rest of us will get some wood for a fire!”

“But we’ve got an oven,” Ron said. “Why can’t we just—”

“Ron, anti-muggle security! When real muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors—I’ve seen them at it!” Mr. Weasley said excitedly.

Chrys and Hermione put their bags in the girls’ tent (nearly identical, only smaller) before they headed off.

As they walked, the sun rose and so did the people.

Harry looked around in amazement. A toddler poked a slug with a wand as they passed. The slug swelled up and burst when the boy’s mother accidentally stepped on it.

Ron’s face paled. “Hurry up,” he said, probably recalling the time he’d accidentally cursed himself to belch up slugs for an entire day.

Next they passed two small children riding miniature broomsticks. Chrys got nervous about them falling off, but luckily a ministry official came running.

“In broad daylight!” The ministry worker said, aghast. “Parents having a lie in, I suppose.”

“I thought it was cute,” Harry said quietly.

Chrys sniffed as the smell of food filled the air. Many wizards had started to cook breakfast. Some of them looked both ways before conjuring a fire while others struggled with sets of matches. Three wizards in white robes were roasting a rabbit over a purple flames.

“What’s that language?” Harry kept asking Hermione as they passed different tents, until Hermione started to get annoyed.

“That’s English…” Ron said as they passed a tent with an American flag hanging over it.

“Wow, thanks, Ron,” Harry said sarcastically.

“No problem, mate.” He paused for a moment as they turned a corner into a new row of tents. “Is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?”

Chrys took off her glasses, cleaned them on them on the jumper she’d borrowed from Hermione, and then put them back on again.

“No, definitely green,” she confirmed, looking around at the thick carpet of shamrock growing over the tents.

“Harry! Ron!” A familiar voice called out. They turned to see their housemate Seamus Finnigan beaming at them. He was standing in front of a tent with his best friend Dean Thomas, and a woman who must be his mother. She had the exact same shade of sandy-brown hair as he did.

“Hi,” Dean said. “Everyone all right?”

“Yeah,” Chrys said. “What about you—two World Cups in one year—” Dean was a huge football fan. She grinned. “—You must be ecstatic.”

Mrs. Finnigan looked confused, but Dean smiled back at her.

“Yeah. No chance of me going to the United States, but seeing this should be just as good. It’s good of Seamus to bring me along.” He turned. “Thanks for having me, Mrs. Finnigan.”

Her eyes softened. “Of course, Dean.”

“Oh, ma, these are more friends from school—Harry, Ron, Hermione, Chrys.” Seamus pointed them out.

“Nice to meet you,” Harry said politely. Chrys looked around some more.

“And nice decorations…”

Mrs. Finnigan smiled. “Thanks!” Seamus laughed. “The Ministry’s not too happy.”

“Ah, why shouldn’t we show our colors?” Mrs. Finnigan huffed. “You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over _their_ tents. You’ll be supporting Ireland, of course?” She squinted suspiciously around at them.

“Of course,” Ron said quickly. After they’d reassured her and were out of earshot, Ron shook his head. “Like we’d say anything else surrounded by that lot.”

Chrys laughed nervously.

“I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents?” Hermione said.

“Let’s go and have a look,” Harry suggested, pointing to a group of tents nearby.

They passed under a large white green and red flag.

“Well…” Chrys said, looking around at the poster that was adorning each tent. “I think I like the Irish decorations better. Much more cheerful."

“He does look grumpy,” Hermione thought, squinting at the man in the poster.

“Grumpy?” Ron repeated, sounding personally offended for some reason.

“What?” Hermione said.

“That’s Krum! Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker! Who cares what he looks like? He’s unbelievable. He’s really young too—Only just eighteen or something. He’s a _genius_ , you wait until tonight, you’ll see.”

Hermione looked doubtful. “Sure, Ron,” Chrys said, patting him on the back.

There was a queue in front of the tap when they reached it.

At the back of the line, a man was holding a pair of trousers up to another man, who wearing a flowery nightgown.

“Just put them on, Archie, there’s a good chap,” said the first to the second. His voice was strained. By the haggard look on his face, Chrys guessed he was a Ministry worker. “You can’t walk around like that, the muggle at the gate’s already getting suspicious—”

“I bought this in a muggle shop,” Archie told him. “Muggles wear them.”

“Muggle _women_ wear them, Archie, not the men,” the ministry worker corrected him. “They wear these.” He waved the trousers in the air.

“I’m not putting them on,” Archie said firmly. “I like a healthy breeze round my privates, thanks.” Chrys and Hermione looked at each other and dissolved into giggles. Archie turned around to look at them. Hermione grabbed Chrys’ hand and dragged her away from the queue until Archie had collected his water and left.

On their way back they ran into more classmates. Oliver Wood, Harry’s old Quidditch captain, excitedly dragged Harry over to introduce him to his parents.

“I think he misses you,” Chrys teased Harry when he finally managed to break away from them. Harry ignored her.

“He’s just been signed to Puddlemore—the reserve team,” he told Ron.

Ron whistled. “Pretty good for being one year out of school.”

“Oh look, it’s Ernie,” Hermione said. Ernie Macmillan was a Hufflepuff student in their year whose study group Hermione sometimes dragged Chrys to. Ron dragged Hermione away from him before they could get too deep into a conversation about study schedules.

They also passed Cho Chang, a girl a bit older than them who played for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. She waved and smiled at Harry, who smiled back goofily and splashed water down his front. Chrys and Ron snickered.

“Who d’you reckon they are?” Harry asked, pointing at a group of teenagers. “They don’t go to Hogwarts, do they?”

“Well, you can’t expect me to memorize all the students at Hogwarts, can you?” Chrys said. She looked expectantly at Hermione.

“’spect they go to some foreign school,” Ron figured. “I know there are others…” He told them about Bill’s penfriend who had been so upset Bill couldn’t afford to visit him that he’d sent him a cursed hat that made his ears shrivel up.

Harry laughed distractedly. “I guess I should’ve expected there were other wizarding schools,” he whispered to Chrys as Hermione corrected the way Ron was holding his kettle. “Did you know?”

Chrys shrugged. “I mean, not explicitly, but like you said, it makes sense. There are probably a lot of wizards in the world, and Hogwarts is only so big…” She trailed off as they reached their tents. Fred had stripped down to his undershirt and was rather sweaty. She swallowed slightly. Clearly all those years of playing Quidditch had been good to him. Harry looked at her confusedly.

“There you are,” Fred said. “What took you?”

“You’ve been ages,” George complained.

“Met a few people,” Ron told them as they put their containers of water down. “You not got that fire started yet?”

“Dad’s having fun with the matches.” Fred looked meaningfully over to where Mr. Weasley was standing over the fire pit.

“Dad!” Ginny said, trying not to laugh as he lit a match and dropped it in surprise when it burst into flame. The ground was littered with burnt out matches.

“Come here, Mr. Weasley,” Hermione said kindly, taking the box from him.

As they waited for the fire to get hot enough, Mr. Weasley introduced them to various ministry officials who kept passing by on their way to the pitch. His kids looked bored, and Chrys was easily distracted, but Hermione and Harry were listening eagerly enough.

“Arnold Peasegood, he’s an Oblivaiator—member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, you know… and that’s Bode and Croaker… they’re Unspeakables…”

“They’re what?” Harry asked. Chrys looked up from the game of exploding snap the rest of them were playing.

“From the Department of Mysteries, top secret,” Mr. Weasley told them. “No idea what they get up to…”

“Hey!” Ginny said, jerking her cards out of the way as George tried to sneak a peek at them.

Harry took charge of the cooking. Hermione had tried to help, but seemed nearly as hopeless as Chrys was, so Ron stepped in instead.

They were just passing around plates of eggs and sausages when Bill, Charlie, and Percy came walking over.

“Just apparated, dad,” Percy said. He smiled as he spotted the food. “Ah, excellent, lunch!”

Harry turned to Ron. “I think we’ll need a few more sausages.”

Ron grumbled. Mr. Weasley jumped up.

“Aha! The man of the moment! Ludo!”

A man in Quidditch robes jogged over to them.

“Ahoy there!” He said, slightly out of breath. “Arthur, old man, what a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming… and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements… not much for me to do!”

Three ministry wizards ran past him, towards a large purple fire that was sending up sparks. Percy stood and held out his hand.

“Ah, yes,” Mr. Weasley said. “This is my son, Percy. He’s just started at the Ministry—and this is Fred… no, George, sorry— _that’s_ Fred—Bill, Charlie, Ron—my daughter, Ginny—and Ron’s friends, Hermione Granger, and Harry and Chrys Potter.” Bagman blinked at the Potters. “Everyone, this is Ludo Bagman, you know who is he, it’s thanks to him we’ve got such good tickets.” Bagman waved and smiled.

“Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?” He shook his pockets and they jingled. “I’ve already got Roddy Ponter betting me Bulgaria will score first—I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland’s front three are the strongest I’ve seen in years—and little Agatha times has put up half shares in her eel farm on a week long match.”

“I hope it doesn’t last a week this time,” Hermione muttered under her breath.

“Eel farm?” Chrys whispered back to her. Hermione shrugged.

“Oh… go on then,” Mr. Weasley said. “Let’s see… a galleon on Ireland to win?”

“A galleon?” Bagman repeated disappointedly. “Very well, very well… any other takers?”

“They’re a bit young to be gambling,” Mr. Weasley thought. “Molly wouldn’t like—”

So, of course Fred and George stood up.

“We’ll bet thirty-seven galleons, fifteen sickles, three knuts, that Ireland wings—but Viktor Krum gets the snitch,” Fred said as George held up their money. “Oh, and we’ll throw in a fake wand.”

“You don’t want to go showing Mr. Bagman rubbish like that,” Percy said as Fred handed over a very real-looking wand. Bagman’s face lit up as the wands squawked and turned into a rubber chicken. Chrys snorted. Bagman laughed boomingly.

“Excellent! I haven’t seen one that convincing in years! I’d pay five galleons for that!”

Fred and George beamed as Percy froze in surprise.

“Boys,” Mr. Weasley whispered to them. “I don’t want you betting. That’s all your savings. Your mother—”

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Arthur!” Bagman said, jingling his pockets again. “They’re old enough to know what they want!” He grinned at them. “You reckon Ireland will win but Krum’ll get the snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance… I’ll give you excellent odds on that one… we’ll add five galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we…”

Mr. Weasley wilted as Bagman scribbled something in a notebook.

“Cheers,” George said, taking the slip of parchment Bagman tore off for him. Bagman smiled at Mr. Weasley.

“Couldn’t do me a brew, I suppose? I’m keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite’s making difficulties, and I can’t understand a word he’s saying. Barty’ll be able to sort it out. He speaks about a hundred languages.”

“Mr. Crouch?” Percy perked up at the name. “He speaks two hundred!”

“Really? That’s impressive,” Chrys thought. Percy nodded in agreement. “I don’t think I can even name two hundred languages…”

“Well, he knows Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll—”

“Anyone can speak Troll,” Fred thought. “All you have to do is point and grunt.”

“Really?” Chrys grinned. “Then my uncle must be fluent.” Harry snorted, nearly dropping his spatula. Fred laughed.

Percy frowned at them, and checked the teakettle.

“Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?” Mr. Weasley asked as Bagman sat down with them.

“Not a dicky bird,” Bagman said, unworried. “But she’ll turn up. Poor old Bertha—memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction. Lost, you take my word for it. She’ll wander back into the office sometime in October, thinking it’s still July.”

“You don’t think it might be time to send someone to look for her?” Mr. Weasley suggested gently. Percy handed Bagman his tea.

“Barty Crouch keeps saying that,” Bagman admitted, sipping. “But we really can’t spare anyone at the moment. Oh—talk of the devil!” He beamed as a man apparted in front of them. “Barty!” Barty Crouch looked basically like what Chrys would expect Percy’s boss to look like. His suit was conservative muggle high-end, and his mustache was straight as a ruler. “Pull up a bit of grass, Barty!” Bagman patted the ground next to him.

“No thank you, Ludo,” Crouch said tensely. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box.”

Bagman blinked. “Oh, is _that_ what they’re after? I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent.”

Chrys let out a small laugh.

Crouch glanced at her distractedly, as if he wasn’t really seeing her.

“Mr. Crouch!” Percy said, bowing for some reason. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Oh?” Crouch blinked at him. “Yes—thank you, Weatherby.” Fred and George choked on their tea. Percy’s ears turned pink as he refilled the kettle. “Oh, and I’ve been wanting a word with you too, Arthur.” Crouch nodded at him. “Ali Bashir’s on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets.”

Flying carpets were real? Chrys sat up a bit straighter.

Mr. Weasley sighed. “I sent him an owl about that just last week. If I’ve told him once I’ve told him a hundred times: carpets are defined as a Muggle Artifact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will he listen?”

“I doubt it,” Crouch said honestly. “He’s desperate to export here.”

“Well, they’ll never replace brooms in Britain, will they?” Bagman thought.

“Ali thinks there’s a niche in the market for a family vehicle,” Crouch said. How big were these flying carpets exactly? Chrys tried to imagine the entire Weasley family sitting single-file on an especially long runner. “I remember my grandfather had an Axminster that could seat twelve—” Ah. “—But that was before carpets were banned, of course.” He looked around at them sharply, as if daring them to challenge him. No one did.

“So, been keeping busy, Barty?” Bagman said lightly.

“Fairly,” Crouch replied dryly. “Organizing Portkeys across five continents is no means feat, Ludo.”

“I expect you’ll both be glad when this is over?” Mr. Weasley said sympathetically. Bagman stared at him.

“Glad!” He exclaimed. “Don’t know when I’ve had more fun…” Crouch didn’t look like he knew the meaning of the word. “Still, it’s not as though we haven’t anything to look forward to, eh, Barty?” He grinned. “Eh? Plenty left to organize, eh?”

Crouch’s eyebrows shot up. He glanced around. “We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details…”

“Oh, details!” Bagman waved his hand like he was shooing away a fly. “They’ve signed, haven’t they?” Who signed what? “They’ve agreed, haven’t they? I bet you anything these kids’ll know soon enough anyway. I mean, it’s happening at Hogwarts—”

Harry perked up like a hound catching a scent.

“Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know,” Crouch interrupted. “Thank you for the tea, Weatherby.” He handed Percy back the cup, still full. Percy frowned at it disappointedly. Bagman knocked back the rest of his tea and stood, pockets jingling again.

“See you all later!” He waved. “You’ll be up in the Top Box with me—I’m commentating!” He disapparated. Crouch nodded at Mr. Weasley and then followed suit.

“What’s happening at Hogwarts, dad?” Fred asked immediately. “What were they talking about?” Mr. Weasley smiled mysteriously.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“It’s classified information, until such time as the Ministry decides to release it,” Percy said, sticking his nose up in the air. “Mr. Crouch was quite right to disclose it.”

“Oh shut up, Weatherby,” Fred said. Everybody laughed, even Mr. Weasley who hastily took a sip of his tea and pretended to be choking on it.

As night fell, the salesmen came out, apparating every few feet with their trays of merchandise. The Ministry Workers gave up trying to hide the presence of magic.

“Been saving my pocket money all summer for this,” Ron said excitedly. He bought a hat with a dancing shamrock on it, a green rosette to pin to his shirt, and a very lifelike figurine of Viktor Krum that walked over Ron’s hand, scowling up at them.

Then Harry found brass binoculars covered in all sorts of knobs and dials. They were called Omnioculars and the knobs and dials could slow down and explain the plays as you were watching the game.

“Well, I don’t understand Quidditch very well, and we are going to be at the top box,” Chrys said thoughtfully. “I’ll take a pair.” She handed over the money and the salesperson handed over her binoculars. Ron looked from them to his hat.

“Wish I hadn’t brought this now,” he muttered.

“Three pairs,” Harry said to the salesperson.

“No.” Ron turned red. “Don’t bother.”

“You wouldn’t be getting anything for Christmas,” Harry said, knowing how Ron felt about all the money Harry and Chrys had inherited from their parents. He handed a pair of binoculars to Ron, and another to Hermione. “For about ten years, mind.”

Ron smiled and relaxed a bit. “Fair enough.”

“Ooh—thanks, Harry,” Hermione said. “And I’ll get us some programs.”

Chrys was tempted to get a Bulgarian scarf, simply for the roaring lion on it, but frankly didn’t want to face any of the Ireland fans like that. Instead she bought some face paint off of a vender and painted little Irish flags on Ginny’s cheeks.

The Weasleys had all gotten green rosettes except for Fred and George, who had given all their money to Bagman. Mr. Weasley also had an Irish flag that played the anthem when it was waved.

And then red and green lanterns suddenly lit up in the woods, forming a path to the stadium.


	6. Of Winky and Winning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anybody can think of a better name for this chapter (or any of the others) let me know. I've been following the format of alliterate 'of [blank] and [blank]' with words relating to the overall theme of the chapter, but rhyming words are good too.

“Ooh!” Chrys said, speeding towards the lantern path.

“Now—wait for us!” Mr. Weasley called out, hurrying after her. “There are a lot of people here, we need to stick together.”

“Right. Sorry.”

He smiled. “It’s all right. It is very exciting, isn’t it?”

“Definitely,” Harry said, grinning around at the laughing and singing crowd. After walking through the woods for about twenty minutes, they came to the stadium. Harry craned his neck. “Whoa. That could easily fit ten cathedrals inside of it.”

“Seats a hundred thousand,” Mr. Weasley told him.

“That’s got to be a lot of work to put together,” Chrys thought. “Even with magic.”

“Oh yes.” He nodded. “A Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they’ve suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again… bless them.”

A Ministry worker checked their tickets at the nearest entrance.

“Prime seats! Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go.”

They walked up the purple-carpeted stairs. The crowd thinned as they got higher up. The Top Box was filled with about twenty purple and gold chairs situated in two rows. Harry excitedly ran to the edge of the book to look down. Chrys smiled for a moment at his excitement, and then swallowed at the smallness of the spectators in their seats. The green stretch of field was so far bellow… Her head spun and she gripped Harry’s arm. He was still distracted by the crowd, but Hermione rubbed her back soothingly.

“Is it your stomach?” Now that she mentioned it, Chrys did feel kind of seasick… height sick? “Here.” She reached into her pocket and took out a small pill. Chrys studied it, recognizing it as an anti-nausea pill Aunt Petunia sometimes gave Dudley for long car trips. “This should help.”

“Thanks, Hermione.” Chrys knocked back the pill, hoping it wouldn’t get stuck in her throat. “That should do the trick.” Harry turned to her.

“Are you—” He blinked, distracted by something behind her. She turned his gaze back to the chairs in their Box and saw a house-elf sitting in the back row. “Dobby?”

The house-elf looked up.

“Did sir just call me Dobby?” The house-elf-who-was-not-Dobby squeaked. This house-elf had even wider eyes and an even higher-pitched voice than Dobby had… maybe she was female?

“Sorry,” Harry said, as Hermione and the Weasleys looked over to see what was happening. “I just thought you were someone I knew.”

“But I knows Dobby too, sir!” The elf told him. She had her hands in front of her face, peeking out from cracks between her fingers. Chrys wondered if she was afraid of heights as well. “My name is Winky, sir—and you, sir—you is surely Harry Potter!”

“Yeah, I am,” Harry said casually.

“But Dobby talks of you all the time sir!” Winky said, lowering her hands slightly. She blinked at Chrys with her gigantic brown eyes. “And Miss Potter?” Chrys nodded, still feeling a bit nauseous.

“How is he?” Harry asked Winky. “How’s freedom suiting him?”

Winky frowned. “Ah, sir…” She shook her head. “Ah, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you is setting him free.”

Harry stared at her. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”

“Freedom is going to Dobby’s head, sir,” Winky said sadly. “Ideas above his station, sir. Can’t get another position, sir.”

“Why not?” Harry wondered.

“He is wanting paying for his work, sir,” Winky whispered, her voice going even more high-pitched. Harry blinked.

“Paying? Well—why shouldn’t he be paid?”

Winky seemed horrified at the idea. She hid her face behind her hands again. Apparently a house-elf being paid was unheard of. Winky was worried he was going to be brought up in front of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Chrys frowned.

“Not that lot. Do you really think it would come to that?”

Winky nodded solemnly.

“But, it sounds like he’s having a bit of fun,” Harry thought. “It’s about time.”

“House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter,” Winky told him stiffly. “House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter—” She glanced over the edge of the box and gulped. “—But my master sends me to the Top Box and I come, sir.”

Chrys bristled. “Why’s he sent you up here, if he knows you don’t like heights?” Harry asked, frowning. Apparently her master had sent her to save his seat, and like a good house elf, she’d done so. Chrys thought this was stupid—surely the ticket checking Ministry Worker would stop anyone if they tried to sneak into the Top Box and steal someone’s seat… although, it was very crowded, maybe someone could slip between the cracks.

She smiled nervously at Winky. “Look, Winky, I’m not so fond of heights either, but I’m sure we’ll manage somehow. Anyway, the Weasleys are pretty tall, so if they sit in front of you, hopefully you won’t be able to see a thing.” She paused. “Unless you still wanted to try and watch the game—in that case, me or Hermione could sit in front of you.”

Winky drew her hands away from her eyes slightly, staring at Chrys. "Winky will stay here." She bowed her head slightly. “Thank you, miss.” Then she hid her face again, and Harry and Chrys stepped back next to the others.

“So that’s a house-elf?” Ron said quietly. “Weird things, aren’t they?”

“Dobby was weirder,” Harry and Chrys said in unison. Ron shrugged and pulled out his omnioculars. He pointed them down at the crowd and snorted.

“Wild!” He turned one of the knobs. “I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again… and again… and again…”

“Gross,” Chrys said, pulling out her own onminculars. “Where?” Harry laughed quietly.

Hermione ignored them, flipping through her velvet-covered, tasseled program instead.

“ _A display from the team mascots will precede the match_ ,” she read aloud.

“Oh, that’s always worth watching,” Mr. Weasley said. “National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show.”

“What sort of creatures?” Chrys wondered, hanging her omniculars around her neck.

“I did get you a program,” Hermione reminded her.

“Oh yeah…” Chrys dug through her pockets and came up it the slightly crumpled program.

There were a lot of pages, and Chrys was still somewhat nauseous. She skimmed the important bits Hermione pointed out with her as she waited for the anti-nausea pill to kick in. After a while she found that her stomach was settled, and it wasn’t too frightening to look around at the stadium with the zoom feature on the omniculars. Mr. Weasley, meanwhile, was shaking hands with all the Ministry officials who entered the box. Most of them seemed to know him, which fit well with his friendly personality, Chrys thought.

Percy, on the other hand, seemed to be meeting many of them for the first time. His bottom would barely touch his chair before he bounced up again to shake someone else’s hand. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic came, Percy bowed so low his glasses fell off and broke. His whole face turned red and he repaired his glasses hastily, keeping firmly seated after that.

Still, he did shoot Harry and Chrys jealous looks as Fudge greeted them fondly.

“Ah, Harry old boy. Chrys…” He shook their hands. “Very good to see you again. How are you?”

“Er, fine,” Harry said.

“Good, good.” Fudge nodded. “And…” He glanced at the men on either side of him and then pointed at Harry and Chrys. “These are the Potter twins, you know,” he said very loudly. The wizard in black velvet robes just blinked at him.

“Nice to meet you,” Chrys said, holding out her hand. The wizard smiled and shook it.

“ _Potter_ …” Fudge said again. The wizard raised his eyebrow. “Oh, come on now, you know who they are… the Children Who Lived? You _do_ know who they are—” Suddenly the wizard pointed excitedly at Harry’s scar and said something in what Chrys thought must be Bulgarian. Fudge let out a breath of relief. “Knew we’d get there in the end.” He turned to Harry. “I’m no great shakes at languages—I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf’s saving him a seat…” So Winky worked for Crouch… Chrys frowned, her opinion of him shrinking. “Good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best seats…” Chrys looked at the Bulgarian wizard, thinking it was rather rude of Fudge to speak about him like that when he was standing right there, even if they were having trouble understanding each other. The wizard winked. Chrys blinked, wondering if she’d imagined that. “Ah, and here’s Lucius!” Her head snapped around. Harry, Ron and Hermione looked over too. Lucius Malfoy was walking up to the three empty seats in the box. With him were his son, Draco, and a blonde woman who must be Mrs. Malfoy.

Draco was in Slytherin in their year at school. To say he wasn’t fond of them would be an understatement—but the feeling was mutual. He and Harry frowned at each other as Lucius approached the Minister.

“Ah, Fudge.” Lucius held out his hand and they shook. He ignored the twins. They didn’t like each other much either, though they’d had less experience with him than they had with his son. “How are you? I don’t think you’ve met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son Draco?”

“How do you do, how do you do?” Fudge dipped his head respectfully. “And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk—” Fudge seemed to stumble over his own tongue. “Mr. Oblansk—well, he’s the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can’t understand a word I’m saying anyway, so never mind. And let’s see who else….” Fudge glanced around. “You know Arthur Weasley, I daresay.”

Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy both stiffened as they looked at each other. Chrys remembered two years ago, when they’d gotten into a fistfight at Flourish and Blotts Bookshop. Then Lucius looked down the row at all the other Weasleys.

“Good lord, Arthur,” he said quietly. “What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn’t have fetched this much.” Chrys bristled, but Hermione laid her hand on her shoulder and squeezed warningly. Mr. Malfoy’s gaze focused on Hermione. He sneered. Hermione flushed, but held his gaze.

Fudge plainly wasn’t paying attention to anything around him.

“Lucius has just given a _very_ generous contribution to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur,” he told them distractedly. “He’s here as my guest.”

“How… how nice,” Mr. Weasley said in a strained voice. The Malfoys filed down the row into their seats.

“Slimy gits,” Ron muttered.

“Everyone ready?” Bagman said, suddenly running into the box. He was breathing heavily again, his chubby cheeks flushed.

“He’s looks like a great big Edam,” Harry whispered to Chrys. She snorted.

Bagman turned to Fudge. “Minister—ready to go?”

“Ready when you are, Ludo.”

Bagman pulled out his wand and pointed at his throat. “ _Sonorus!_ ” And suddenly his voice projected over the excitement of the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen… welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!” The crowd screamed and applauded. Flags waved, playing the Bulgarian and Irish anthems. The blackboard across from them cleared of its advertisement written in chalk and put up the score: _Bulgaria: 0, Ireland: 0._ “And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce… the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!” Going by the sea of red, most of the Bulgaria fans were sitting on the right side of the stadium. They cheered.

“I wonder what they’ve brought,” Mr. Weasley said. He leaned forward as Hermione opened her mouth to answer. “Ah! _Veela!”_ The program said Bulgaria had brought in something called Veela, but there was no description of what exactly Veela were.

“What are Veel—” Harry started to ask.

Harry stopped short as a hundred gorgeous women drifted onto the field. They were more like the image of elves Chrys had in mind from years of reading muggle fantasy than Winky sitting behind them.

The Veela had pale skin that glowed as if it had been dipped in moonlight, and long golden hair that rippled behind them.

They were almost alien in their intense beauty.

And then the music and dancing started. And suddenly it didn’t matter if they were aliens, because they were the most beautiful aliens Chrys had ever seen and she never wanted them to stop dancing. Her throat felt dry and her palms were sweaty.

She was seriously considering moving to Bulgaria when the music suddenly stopped.

“Hey!” Chrys said. The crowd shouted out for the music to start again. Chrys looked around, wondering whom she had to complain to.

“Harry, what _are_ you doing?” Hermione said sharply.

Harry and Ron were standing very close to the edge of the Box. Harry’s foot was on the wall, and Ron’s arms were over his head, his expression determined. A few seats over, Bill laughed quietly. Chrys flushed.

Clearly, the veela had cast some sort of enchantment. Hermione, Charlie, Winky, the Bulgarian Prime Minister, and Mrs. Malfoy seemed unaffected, but the others appeared to have had at least _some_ interest. Still, none of the others looked as warm as Chrys felt. At least she wasn’t as bad as Harry and Ron. She grabbed them each by the arm and pulled them back to their seats.

“Don’t know why I’m wearing this thing,” Harry muttered, tugging at the shamrock on his shirt. It squeaked out the names of the Irish chasers— _Troy! Mullet! Moran!_ “Should be supporting Bulgaria.”

Ron nodded, distractedly shredding the shamrock on his hat.

“You’ll be wanting that,” Mr. Weasley said, pulling the hat out of his hands. “…Once Ireland have had their say.”

“Huh?” Ron was still staring at the veela, his mouth slightly open. Hermione tutted.

“Honestly!”

“And now,” Bagman boomed. “Kindly put your wands in the air… for the Irish National Team Mascots!”

Chrys straightened up, eager to see real-life leprechauns. The crowd gasped and looked up. A green and gold comet streaked into the stadium, and then split in two, each blur of color going to one end of the field. An arc of light connected the two, forming a rainbow. When the rainbow faded, the balls of light merged again to form a giant shamrock floating over the stands, raining gold.

“Excellent!” Ron said, as the gold coins smacked him on the head. Chrys pointed her omniculars up at the shamrock and saw that it was comprised of many leprechauns carrying green lanterns.

“Leprechauns can fly!” She said happily to Hermione as people in the stands fought over the coins. Ron gave Harry a handful of gold to pay back for the omniculars.

The leprechauns descended to sit on the opposite side of the pitch than the veela.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome—the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team!” Bagman said. He started announcing the players. Krum got the loudest applause.

“That’s him! That’s him!” Ron said, watching him with his omniculars. Harry did the same.

Chrys watched the Irish players zip onto the field as Bagman introduced them, and then the referee, Hassan Mostafa.

Mostafa released the balls, blew his whistle, and then took off into the air. The chasers were throwing the quaffle so quickly that Bagman barely had time to say their names. Chrys saw flashes of information in the corner of her omnicular lenses. The names of the plays and strategies meant little to her, so she tried to just appreciate how hard the players had clearly worked to get here, and how hard they were playing to win.

Harry had an awkward moment when he had been watching in slow motion and missed the first goal. Hermione and Ginny danced in celebration as Harry sulkily fiddled with a dial on his omniculars. Within ten minutes Ireland had scored twice more.

Ireland played fast, but Bulgaria was tough. After Ireland’s third goal, the Bulgarian beaters managed to disrupt the Irish chasers, and get a goal of their own.

“Fingers in your ears!” Mr. Weasley said as the music started and the veela started to dance in celebration. Chrys held her hands over her ears and found that the veela weren’t as overwhelming this time. Hermione shot her an odd look. Chrys blushed and avoided eye contact. Harry squeezed his eyes shut for good measure. She nudged him as the game started up again.

“Oh, I say!” Bagman called out. Krum and the Irish seeker Lynch dived. Harry pointed his ominoculars down, trying to spot the snitch.

“They’re going to crash!” Hermione said, gripping Ron’s arm worriedly. Krum pulled out of the dive at the last second, but Lynch hit the ground with a smack. Chrys winced. The Ireland supporters groaned.

“Fool!” Mr. Weasley said. “Krum was feinting!”

“Can he do that?” Chrys wondered.

“Sure he can,” Ron said. “It’s called a—”

“It’s a time-out as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!” Bagman announced.

Harry pointed his omnioculars up to watch Krum.

Ginny stood up and gripped the side of the Box, looking down worriedly.

Chrys frowned. “He looks pretty beat up,” she thought, watching through her omnioculars as the mediwizards gave Lynch a potion.

“He’ll be okay!” Charlie assured them. “He only got ploughed—which is what Krum was after, of course…” Ron nodded.

Lynch did get back on his broom, and Ireland started playing more aggressively after that. Bulgaria pushed back harder, earning Ireland a penalty.

The leprechauns used their lanterns to spell out _Ha! Ha! Ha!_ The veela rose up and danced angrily in response. They were still beautiful in their anger. Most of the occupants of the Box stuffed their ears again. Hermione pulled Ron’s fingers out of his ears and pointed, giggling about something. Chrys and Harry uncovered their ears.

“Look at the referee!” Hermione said.

Mostafa had landed in front of the veela and was… strutting. Chrys felt a stab of sympathy, but it was also hilarious. She giggled with Hermione as Mostafa flexed his muscles and smoothed down his mustache.

“Now, we can’t have that!” Bagman said, amused. “Somebody slap the referee!” A mediwizard rushed across the field, his fingers in his ears as well. He kicked Mostafa’s shin hard. Mostafa shook himself and started shouting at the veela, who stopped dancing and now looked even angrier. “And unless I’m much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots! Now _there’s_ something we haven’t seen before… oh this could turn nasty.” Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian beaters, landed in front of Mostafa and started arguing with him. The leprechauns now spelled out: ‘ _Hee! Hee! Hee!_ ’ with their lanterns.

Mostafa blew his whistle, announcing two more fouls awarded to Ireland. Volkov and Vulchanov got back on their brooms, but Bulgaria was now playing even more violently. One of the Bulgarian chasers, Dimitrov, flew straight into Moran, who had the quaffle. That was a penalty. The leprechauns formed a giant hand with their lanterns and started making rude gestures at the veela. The veela responded by throwing fire at them.

“Look!” Harry said to Chrys, pointing his omnioculars at the veela. Chrys followed his lead, and saw that the veela had transformed into something like harpies, with bird heads and scaly wings.

“And _that_ , boys,” Mr. Weasley shouted over the chaos. “—Is why you should never go for looks alone!” Ministry workers were rushing on the field to separate the mascots as the game went on above. Moran scored, but the cheers from the Ireland supporters could barely be heard over the battle below, and the shouts of the Bulgaria supporters.

Bulgaria gained possession of the quaffle. Quigley, one of the Ireland beaters, hit a bludger at Krum for some reason. Krum’s nose dripped with blood. Bulgaria roared for a foul, but Mostafa was distracted—the back of his broom was on fire.

“Time-out!” Ron called. “Ah, come on he can’t play like that, look at him—”

“Look at Lynch!” Harry said suddenly. Lynch was going into a dive again. “He’s seen the snitch! He’s seen it! Look at him go!” Krum was hot on Lynch’s tail. Blood was flying everywhere, but somehow Krum was now neck-in-neck with him…

“They’re going to crash!” Hermione cried again.

“They’re not!” Ron protested.

“Lynch is!” Harry said.

He was right. Lynch hit the ground, again, and was crushed under foot by a stamped of veela. Chrys winced again. “That’s got to hurt.”

“The snitch, where’s the snitch!” Charlie said wildly.

“He’s got it!” Harry realized. “Krum’s got it—it’s all over!” Krum floated back up, covered his blood, holding his fist above his head.

The final score flashed on the blackboard: _Bulgaria: 160, Ireland: 170._

“Ireland wins!” Bagman shouted, a little confused. “Krum gets the snitch—but Ireland wins—good lord, I don’t think any of us were expecting that!”

Chrys laughed and glanced down the row at Fred and George, who were hugging each other and shouting, “Yes!” at the top of their lungs.

Ron wondered why Krum had caught the snitch when he knew they were behind in points, but Harry thought he understood—Bulgaria was too far behind, they would’ve never caught up, Krum just wanted to end the game on his own terms.

“He was very brave, wasn’t he?” Hermione thought, leaning over the edge of the box.

Chrys grinned. “Yeah. Risky move—very Gryffindor.”

“He looks a terrible mess…”

“Vell, ve fought bravely,” someone said behind them. Harry and Chrys turned to see the Bulgarian Minister eyeing the field sadly.

“You can speak English!” Fudge realized angrily. “And you’ve been letting me mime everything all day!”

“Vell, it vos very funny.” The Bulgarian Minister shrugged. Chrys laughed and then hastily plastered on a sober expression when Fudge frowned at her.

But the Bulgarian Minister smiled. “Lyuben Oblanski,” he said, shaking her hand again. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Potter.”

“Pleased to meet you, Minister.”

Bagman announced that the Cup was being brought into the Top Box. The Top Box was suddenly illuminated. Harry squinted under the bright lights. Two wizards passed a large gold cup to the still disgruntled Fudge.

“Let’s have a really loud hand for the gallant losers—Bulgaria!” Bagman said. The Bulgarian team came up the stairs towards the Top Box. Bagman announced their names again so people could applaud as they shook hands with Oblanski and Fudge. When Krum’s name was called, the whole stadium applauded.

His face was blood stained, and his gait was a little awkward compared to how fluidly he moved in the air, but when they cheered, his spine straightened, and he raised his fist in the air again. He was still clutching the snitch.

Next came the Irish team. Moran and Connolly supported Lynch. His eyes were unfocused, but he grinned as his teammates raised the cup and the crowd cheered.

After the team left, Bagman removed the spell, his voice quiet and hoarse now.

He turned to Fred and George, who had climbed over the backs of their chairs to get to him. “Ah yes… yes, I owe you… how much?”


	7. Of Death Eaters and The Dark Mark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't think of anything in particular, but now that things are getting darker, let me know if anyone needs any specific content warnings, other than the general AO3 ones, none of which I'm going to use at this time.

Chrys high-fived Fred as George stuffed a large sack of coins into his pocket.

“ _Don’t_ tell your mother you’ve been gambling,” Mr. Weasley warned them as they started walking down the stairs. Fred grinned.

“Don’t worry, dad. We’ve got big plans for this money. We don’t want it confiscated.”

Mr. Weasley opened his mouth as if to ask ‘what plans?’ but seemed to think better of it.

The crowd moved back down the lantern-lit path through the woods, singing the Irish anthem as leprechauns floated over their heads.

At the tents, Mr. Weasley tried to tell them that it was very late and time for bed, but they all protested that they weren’t tired in the slightest.

“Anyway, dad, how are we supposed to sleep with all this noise?” Ginny pointed out. Mr. Weasley considered.

“Oh, alright, one last cup of cocoa before turning in.” He ruffled Ginny’s hair.

“Dad can never say ‘no’ to Ginny,” Ron muttered under his breath. Ginny turned and winked at him before following their dad into his tent.

Charlie the cocoa up as he and Mr. Weasley argued over the validity of one of the fouls. Hermione curled up on the couch that smelled like cats, reading over the program again. Chrys sat next to her, using her omnioculars to play back a couple of the more spectacular plays so that she could sketch them out.

When Ginny fell asleep and spilled her cocoa all over everything, Mr. Weasley really did send them to bed. The three girls moved into their tent.

Ginny fell back asleep straight away after lying down, but as usual, Chrys was too awake.

“It’s curious,” Hermione said quietly. “How the veela affected some people and not others.” Chrys stiffened. “I wonder why that is… what do you think, Chrys?”

“Don’t know,” she lied. She had a feeling, but she didn’t really want to talk about it. The thought forming in her mind was something that would get her into a lot of trouble if the Dursleys ever found out. Of course, Hermione was a lot more accepting than the Dursleys, but still, Chrys didn’t want to broach the subject just yet. “What about the leprechauns?” She said instead. “They’re loads different than the ones that I used to read about…” They talked until Hermione started to snore. Chrys smiled and yawned, snuggling further under her covers…

“Wake up!” Mr. Weasley cried, sticking his head into their tent.

“Dad?” Ginny rubbed her eyes.

“No time to explain—get up and come outside!” He told them. Chrys heard the worry in his voice and stumbled out of bed, shaking Hermione’s shoulder.

Hermione squinted at her. “What—”

“Hurry!” Mr. Weasley said. Chrys realized he had his wand out, and was gripping it tightly. “We have to leave.” Hermione reached for the stack of neatly folded clothes by her bed. He shook his head. “No time—just grab your coats!”

Chrys pulled her coat over Dudley’s old t-shirt, which she was using as a nightdress, and then, unable to find a pair of socks, slipped her trainers on without them.

She heard the shouting as soon as they stepped outside. She smelled something burning. Harry saw her and grabbed her arm.

“Chrys, it’s…” He trailed off, looking out at a crowd of wizards in masks and hoods moving across the field. The hooded figures laughed as they looked up at four people they were levitating above them. It was the campsite manager, Mr. Roberts, and a woman and two children—his family? The woman was upside down, her drawers on full display. One of the children was spinning like a top. As the hooded figures advanced, they blasted tents out of the way. The remains lay smoldering on the field.

Bill, Charlie, and Percy came out of the boys’ tent. Their wands were out and their sleeves were rolled up.

“We’re going to help the Ministry!” Mr. Weasley said, rolling up his sleeves too. “You lot—get into the woods, and _stick together_. I’ll come and fetch you when we’ve sorted this out!”

Chrys watched the four of them speed off, her stomach twisting.

“C’mon,” Fred said, grabbing Ginny’s hand. They moved towards the wood. When they reached the trees, they looked back. The Ministry workers were facing off with the masked wizards, but they seemed at a standstill.

“Why won’t they do anything?” Chrys muttered. Her hands clenched into fists.

“They’re probably worried about hurting the Roberts family accidentally,” Harry thought.

“They’ll figure it out,” George said softly. “Come on, let’s keep moving.” The crowd pushed them along the path, dark now that the lanterns from earlier had been extinguished. The deeper they went the darker it got. Chrys grabbed Harry’s arm, afraid of being separated. Ron cried out.

Chrys pulled out her wand.

“What happened?” Hermione said. Harry let out a breath as they walked into her. “Ron, where are you?”

“ _Lumos!”_ Chrys said, lighting her wand.

“Oh, good idea.” Hermione lit hers as well. “Ron?” He was sprawled out on the ground.

“Tripped over a damn tree root,” he grumbled as Harry helped him to his feet.

“Well, with feet that size, hard not to,” a voice drawled. If it had been any one else other than Draco Malfoy saying that, Chrys might have laughed. The quartet turned to see him leaning casually against a tree.

“Go fuck yourself, Malfoy!” Ron said.

“Language, Weasley,” Malfoy said, looking amused. “Hadn’t you better be hurrying along now? You wouldn’t like _her…”_ He indicated his head at Hermione. A loud bang and a flash of green went off from somewhere behind the trees. “…Spotted, would you?”

Chrys gritted her teeth. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione said sharply.

“Granger, they’re after _muggles_ ,” Malfoy said. “D’you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around… they’re moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh.” Chrys stepped between them.

“Keep talking, Malfoy—we’ll see who’s laughing.”

Malfoy looked her over in the dim light of her wand. She shifted uncomfortably as his gaze lingered on her bare legs.

“Hermione’s a witch,” Harry said hotly.

“Have it your own way, Potter,” Malfoy said. “If you think they can’t spot a Mudblood, stay where you are.”

“You watch your mouth!” Ron shouted, taking a step towards him.

“Never mind, Ron.” Hermione grabbed his arm. A louder bang came from behind the trees. People screamed. Malfoy laughed.

“Scare easily, don’t they?” He smirked at Ron. “I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What’s he up to—trying to rescue the muggles?”

“Where’re _your_ parents?” Harry retorted. “Out there wearing masks, are they?”

Malfoy’s smirk didn’t even flicker.

“Well… if they were, I wouldn’t be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?”

“Oh come on,” Hermione said, disgusted. “Let’s go find the others.” They turned.

“Keep that bushy head down, Granger,” Malfoy added. Chrys growled.

“You—”

“Come _on_.” Hermione pulled her down the path.

“I’ll bet you anything his dad _is_ one of that masked lot!” Ron grumbled.

“Well, with any luck, the Ministry will catch him!” Hermione said strongly. She frowned as she looked around. “Oh I can’t believe this. Where have the others gotten to?”

It seemed they weren’t the only ones who had been separated from their friends. They passed a group of worried looking teenagers, who called out in rapid French. As far as Chrys could figure they were looking for someone—Madame something or another.

“Er, what?” Ron replied eloquently.

“Oh.” The girl rolled her eyes and turned back to her friends “’Ogwarts.”

“Beauxbatons,” Hermione muttered as they continued down the path. Apparently that was another wizarding school.

“Fred and George can’t have gone that far,” Ron thought, lighting his wand. Harry reached into his pocket.

“Ah, no, I don’t believe it… I’ve lost my wand!”

“You’re kidding!” Ron said. The other three shined their wand light around the ground, but Harry’s wand was nowhere to be scene. “Maybe it’s back in the tent.”

“Maybe it fell out of your pocket when we were running,” Hermione said anxiously.

“Yeah, maybe…” Harry’s brow furrowed. Chrys knew he kept his wand with him at all times in the wizarding world. It was unlike him to lose something that important.

She squeezed his shoulder.

“We’ll find—” She jumped and held her wand up as a bush whistled. It was Winky. She was struggling through the brush as if something invisible was pulling her back.

“There is bad wizards about!” She squeaked. “People high—high in the air! Winky is getting out of the way!” She dragged herself through the trees again, apparently not having seen them

“What’s up with her?” Ron wondered. “Why can’t she run properly?”

“Bet she didn’t ask permission to hide,” Harry thought, frowning. Hermione frowned too.

“Is that how it works?” She asked Chrys. Chrys scratched her head. She’d done a small amount of research on house-elves in second year when they’d first met Dobby, but that had been so long ago…

“Er, I think it’s… sort of like a magical contract. The wording is very important, so, it’s possible that if Mr. Crouch ordered her not to leave the tent… I mean, she could go against his orders, but it would be very difficult, and depending on what his stance on punishment is—”

“You know, house-elves get a very raw deal!” Hermione decided. “It’s slavery, that’s what it is! That Mr. Crouch made her go up to the top of the stadium, and she was terrified, and he’s got her bewitched so she can’t even run when they start trampling tents! Why doesn’t anyone _do_ something about it?” Chrys shook her head.

"I don't know. I had a hard time finding resources. I think it's not talked about much, just sort of taken for granted, you know?"

“Well, the elves are happy, aren’t they?” Ron thought. “You heard old Winky back at the match… ‘House-elves is not supposed to have fun’… it’s what she likes, being bossed around.”

“It’s people like _you_ , Ron,” Hermione said. “Who prop up rotten and unjust systems, just because they’re too lazy to—” She was interrupted by another bang.

“Let’s just keep moving, shall we?” Ron said, glancing in the direction of the noise, and then nervously at Hermione. He and Harry shared a look and a nod. Even if those masked wizards were targeting muggleborns, there was no reason for them to know Hermione was one… but if they did find out, Chrys was sure Ron and Harry would fight tooth and nail to protect her.

As they walked along the path they could see groups of people through the trees, but none of them included Fred, George, or Ginny.

A group of goblins were sitting around a small campfire, laughing as they compared stacks of gold. Chrys wondered what they were talking about. She thought it was brave of them to be sitting around so casually. Even if the masked wizards weren't targeting them specifically, things were being trampled and set on fire. Still, Chrys didn't know much about goblins, maybe they were hardier than she was.

Speaking of magical peoples Chrys didn't know much about, there were a few veela ahead, standing near a group of young wizards who were bragging loudly.

"I'm a dragon-killer for the Commitee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures," one said.

"Ugh," Chrys said. Sure, that was very romantic.

"No you're not!" His friend called him out. "You're a dishwasher at the Leaky Cauldron. But I'm a vampire hunter, I've killed about ninety so far—"

Chrys rolled her eyes.

“I’m about to become the youngest ever Minister of Magic, I am,” a familiar looking man said. Harry snorted.

"That's Stun Shunpike, the Knight Bus conductor," he reminded her.

“Did I tell you I’ve invented a broomstick that’ll reach Jupiter?” Ron suddenly said very loudly. Chrys couldn’t help it—she giggled.

“ _Honestly_ ,” Hermione muttered, as she and Harry seized Ron by his arms and marched him away. Chrys was pleasently surprised to find that the veela hadn't affected her as strongly this time. There was a warm, twisty feeling in her gut, and she had a strong urge to beg the veela to let her draw them, although she didn't think she could do their beauty justice... but at least she was better off than Ron.

They kept walking until the sounds of the veela’s admirers had faded.

Harry looked around. “I reckon we can just wait here, you know. We’ll hear anyone coming a mile off—”

Quite less than a mile off—Bagman stepped out from the trees.

“Who’s that?” His voice sounded strained.

“It’s just us,” Chrys said, holding her wand up higher so he could see them. He looked pale and distracted.

“Ah… what are you all doing in here, alone?”

The quartet looked around at each other, confused.

“Well—there’s sort of a riot going on,” Ron said slowly. Bagman stared at him.

“What?”

“At the campsite… some people have got a hold of a family of Muggles…” Ron explained.

Bagman cursed. “Damn them!” He disapparated without another word.

“Not exactly on top of things, Mr. Bagman, is he?” Hermione thought.

“Understatement,” Chrys thought.

“He was a great beater, though,” Ron told them, starting to walk again. They moved towards a small clearing and sat down on the grass. “The Wimbourne Wasps won the league three times in a row while he was with them.”

“Doesn’t mean he should be working for the government,” Chrys said.

“Yeah, I know.” Ron shrugged. “I’m just saying…” He pulled the figurine of Krum out of his pocket and put it on the ground, watching it walk around.

“…It’s quieter,” Harry said after a while. “Maybe it’s over.”

“I hope the others are okay,” Hermione said.

“They’ll be fine,” Ron said. The figurine of Krum tripped over some fallen leaves. Harry reached over and set him upright again.

“Imagine if your dad catches Lucius Malfoy.” He smiled at Ron. “He’s always said he’d like to get something on him.”

“That’d wipe the smirk off old Draco’s face alright,” Ron said.

“Those poor muggles, though,” Hermione said, twisting her hands in her lap. “What if they can’t get them down?”

“They will,” Ron said firmly. “They’ll find a way.”

“Mad, though, to do something like that when the whole Ministry of Magic’s out here tonight!” Hermione continued. “I mean, how do they expect to get away with it? Do you think they’ve been drinking, or are they just—” She broke off suddenly at the sound of footsteps crunching over the leaves.

The footsteps stopped. “Hello?” Harry called out.

“Harry,” Chrys said nervously, gripping her wand.

Harry stood up and moved closer to the trees. “Who’s there?”

Chrys followed him. “ _Morsmordre_!” A voice called out. Something green burst out of the trees and swooped into the sky.

“What the—?” Ron jumped to his feet. Chrys stared up. Green stars formed the shape of a large skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. She shivered as it flew higher and higher. People were screaming again. Harry looked back into the shadows of the trees.

“Who’s there?” He called out again.

“Harry, come on, _move_!” Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him away.

“Hermione, what—” Chrys started to say. Hermione grabbed her too. Her face was tinged grey.

“What’s the matter?” Harry asked.

“It’s The Dark Mark!” Hermione told them. She pulled on them again. “You-know-Who’s sign!” Chrys felt sick. Harry’s eyes widened.

“ _Voldemort’s—_ “

“Come on!” Hermione said. Ron picked up his Krum figurine and turned back towards the path. They were halfway across the clearing when about twenty wizards appeared in a circle around them. Their wands were raised. Harry looked around frantically.

“Duck!” He shouted. Chrys automatically did as he said, as he grabbed Ron and Hermione and pulled them down with him.

“Stupefy!” The wizards cried. Chrys felt the spells like hot gusts of wind go over the top of her head. She squeezed her eyes shut as her heart thudded in her chest.

“Stop!” The familiar voice of Mr. Weasley shouted. “Stop! _That’s my son!_ ” Chrys heard someone shift next to her, and dared open her eyes. She saw Mr. Weasley moving towards them, concern evident on his face. “Ron—Harry—Chrys—Hermione…” He looked them over carefully. “Are you all right?”

“Out of the way, Arthur,” Crouch said coldly. He and the other wizards closed in on them. Harry stood up, facing him. “Which one of you did it? Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?” Chrys nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of what he was saying.

“We didn’t do that!” Harry said, pointing up at the skull.

“We didn’t do anything!” Ron added, rubbing his elbow where a pink bruise was starting to form. He looked at his dad. “What did you want to attack us for?”

Mr. Weasley opened his mouth—

“Do not lie, sir!” Crouch said, pointing his wand at Ron.

“Hey!” Chrys said, stepping in front of Ron. “Leave him alone! We told you, we’ve got nothing to do with this!” Crouch stared at her, his eyes bulging.

“You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!”

“Barty,” a witch in a dressing gown said tiredly. “They’re kids, Barty, they’d never been able to—”

“Where did the Mark come from, you four?” Mr. Weasley asked quickly.

“Over there.” Hermione pointed shakily at the trees. “There was someone behind the trees… they shouted words… an incantation—”

“Oh, stood over there, did they?” Crouch looked at Hermione in disbelief. “Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how the Mark is summoned, missy—”

“Seriously?” Chrys said tiredly. “You’re wasting your time.” The other Ministry workers seemed to agree. They turned their wands towards the trees.

“We’re too late,” the witch said, shaking her head. “They’ll have disapparated.”

“I don’t think so,” Mr. Diggory said. “Our stunners went right through those trees… there’s a good chance we got them…”

“Amos, be careful!” Another wizard said as Mr. Diggory marched into the trees. Hermione clamped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide.

“Yes! We got them!” Mr. Diggory called back a moment later. “There’s someone here! Unconscious! It’s—but—blimey…”

“You’ve got someone?” Crouch said, surprised. “Who? Who is it?” Mr. Diggory crunched back over the leaves towards them, carrying a small figure in his arms.

“Oh!” Chrys gasped. It was Winky. Crouch froze as Diggory laid the house-elf at his feet. The other Ministry workers stared at Crouch.

“This—cannot—be,” Crouch choked out. “No—” He moved around Diggory, towards the trees where he’d found Winky.

“No point, Mr. Crouch,” Diggory called after him. “There’s no one else there.” There was more rustling of leaves and bushes as Crouch searched. Diggory grimaced down at Winky. “Bit embarrassing… Barty Crouch’s house-elf… I mean to say…”

“Come off it, Amos,” Mr. Weasley said quietly. “You don’t seriously think it was the elf? The Dark Mark’s a wizard’s sign. It requires a wand.”

“Yeah,” Diggory said solemnly. “She had a wand.”

“What?” Mr. Weasley said.

“Here, look.” Diggory held up a wand. “Had it in her hand. So that’s Clause Three of the Code of Wand Use broken, for a start. _No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand_.” Hermione frowned. Several of the wizards jolted and raised their wands as someone else apparated into the clearing. It was Bagman.

“The Dark Mark!” He nearly tripped over Winky as he looked around at them. “Who did it? Did you catch them? Barty!” Crouch was coming out from behind the trees. “What’s going on?” Crouch was shaking slightly. “Where have you been, Barty? Why weren’t you at the march?” Chrys wondered at his priorities. “Your house-elf was saving you a seat too—gulping gargoyles!” Bagman finally noticed Winky. “What happened to _her_?”

“I have been busy, Ludo,” Crouch said robotically. “And my elf has been stunned.”

“Stunned? By you lot, you mean?” His brow furrowed. “But why—?” He looked from Winky to the Dark Mark. “ _No!_ Winky? Conjure the Dark Mark? She wouldn’t know how! She’d need a wand, for a start!”

“And she had one,” Diggory told him. “I found her holding one, Ludo. If it’s alright with you, Mr. Crouch, I think we should hear what she’s got to say for herself.” Crouch didn’t react in the slightest. Diggory pointed his wand at Winky. “ _Ennervate!”_ Winky stirred and sat up slowly. She craned her neck to look at Diggory’s face, and then even further up at the sky. She gasped, looked around at the others gathered in the clearing, and burst into tears. “Elf! Do you know who I am? I’m a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!” Chrys frowned—she knew there was something about him she hadn’t liked. Winky started rocking back and forth as she cried. “As you see, elf, the Dark Mark was conjured here a short while ago—and you were discovered moments later, right beneath it! An explanation, if you please!”

“I—I—I is not doing it sir!” Winky squeaked. “I is not knowing how, sir!”

“You were found with a wand in your hand!” Diggory held it up. Chrys gasped as she saw the wand more clearly in the light of the Dark Mark.

“Hey—that’s mine!” Harry said. Everyone turned to stare at him. Chrys suppressed a groan.

“Excuse me?” Diggory said.

“That’s my wand!” Harry told him. “I dropped it!”

“You dropped it?” Diggory repeated in disbelief. “Is this a confession? You threw it aside after you conjured the Mark?”

“That’s not what he said!” Chrys said sharply.

“Amos, think who you’re talking to!” Mr. Weasley said, flushing in anger. “Is _Harry Potter_ likely to conjure the Dark Mark?”

Diggory blinked. “Er—of course not. Sorry… carried away…”

Chrys glared at him. “I didn’t drop it there, anyway,” Harry said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the trees. “I missed it right after we got into the wood.”

“So…” Diggory turned back to Winky again, his eyes hard. “You found this wand, eh, elf? And you picked it up and thought you’d have some fun with it, did you?”

“I is not doing magic with it, sir!” Winky said, tears streaming down her face. “I is… I is… I is just picking it up, sir! I is not making the Dark Mark, sir, I is not knowing how!”

“It wasn’t her!” Hermione said, nervously but firmly. “Winky’s got a squeaky little voice, and the voice we heard doing the incantation was much deeper!”

Chrys blinked. “That’s right! It definitely sounded like a man saying that incantation!”

“Definitely didn’t sound like an elf,” Harry added.

“Yeah, it was a human voice,” Ron agreed.

“Well, we’ll soon see,” Diggory said suspiciously. “There’s a simple way of discovering the last spell a wand performed, elf, did you know that?” Winky shook her head. Diggory touched his wand to Harry’s. “ _Prior Incantato!”_ Hermione gasped as another skull-with-a-snake-in-its-mouth burst from the tip of Harry’s wand. This one wasn’t as vibrant as the other and appeared blurry as if made of smoke. _“Deletrius!”_ The smoky Dark Mark disappeared. “So…” Diggory looked back at Winky who was shaking violently.

“I is not doing it!” She insisted. “I is not! I is not knowing how! I am a good elf, I isn’t using wands, I isn’t knowing how!”

“You’ve been caught red-handed, elf!” Diggory roared. “Caught with the guilty wand in your hand.” Chrys opened her mouth, but closed it again as Mr. Weasley shot her a warning look.

“Amos,” he said. “Think about it… precious few wizards have learned how to do that spell… where would she have learned it?”

“Perhaps Amos is suggesting that I routinely teach my servants to conjure the Dark Mark?” Crouch said coldly. Amos stared at him.

“…Mr. Crouch… not… not at all.”

“You have now come very close to accusing two of the people in this clearing who are _least_ likely to conjure that Mark!” Crouch barked. “Harry Potter—and myself!” Chrys decided not to point out that he had accused Ron and Hermione, who were just as unlikely to have done such a thing as Harry was. “I suppose you are familiar with the boy’s story, Amos?” Diggory shuffled uncomfortably.

“Of course… everyone knows…”

“And I trust you remember the many proofs I have given, over a long career, that I despise and detest the Dark Arts and those who practice them?” Crouch continued loudly.

“Mr. Crouch, I—I never suggested you had anything to do with it!” Diggory said, his face flushing.

“If you accuse my elf, you accuse me, Diggory!” Crouch shouted. “Where else would she have learned to conjure it?”

“She…” Diggory said weakly. “She might have picked it up anywhere—”

“Precisely, Amos,” Mr. Weasley interjected. “ _She might have picked it up anywhere_ … Winky?” He turned to her. His voice was soft, but she flinched as if he’d slapped her. Chrys frowned. “Where exactly did you find Harry’s wand?”

Winky twisted the hem of the tea towel she was wearing as a toga.

“I—I is finding it… finding it there, sir…” She pointed. “In the trees…” Chrys recognized the look on her face…. Winky was holding something back—But what?

“You see, Amos?” Mr. Weasley said. “Whoever conjured the Mark could have Disapparated right after they’d done it, leaving Harry’s wand behind. A clever thing to do, not using their own wand, which could have betrayed them. And Winky here had the misfortune to come across the wand moments later and pick it up.”

“But then, she’d have been only a few feet away from the real culprit!” Diggory thought. “Elf? Did you see anyone?” Winky looked around at them. Her eyes paused on Crouch.

“I is seeing no one, sir… no one…”

Was she telling the truth about that?

“Amos,” Crouch said. “I am fully aware that, in the ordinary course of events, you would want to take Winky into your department for questioning. I ask you, however, to allow me to deal with her.” Diggory looked doubtfully at Winky, but did not protest. “You may rest assured that she will be punished.”

“Why?” Chrys couldn’t help but ask. “You agree she didn’t conjure the Mark…”

“Be that as it may,” Crouch said. “Winky has behaved tonight in a matter I would not have thought possible. I told her to remain in the tent. I told her to stay there while I went to sort out the trouble. And I find that she disobeyed me… that means _clothes_.”

“No!” Winky cried, throwing herself at his feet. She clutched at the bottom of his robes. “No, master, please! Please, not clothes!”

Crouch looked down at her, disgusted.

“But she was frightened!” Hermione said angrily. “Your elf’s scared of heights, and those wizards in masks were levitating people! You can’t blame her for wanting to get out of their way!” Crouch disentangled himself from Winky’s grasp and stepped back.

“I have no use for a house-elf who disobeys me. I have no use for a servant who forgets what is due to her master, and to her master’s reputation.”

Winky sobbed. Chrys considered her for a moment and then crouched down.

“It’ll be all right, Winky,” she said uncertainly. She privately thought that Winky would be better off without somebody like Crouch, but it should be her choice, if she wanted to leave or not. She remembered what Winky had said earlier at the match about Dobby. “I’m sure you’ll find another nice family to work for, if that’s what you want…” Winky turned to her, her eyes full of tears.

“Another… family?” She started sobbing even harder.

“…Well,” Mr. Weasley said after a moment. He reached down and helped Chrys to her feet. “I think I’ll take my lot back to the tent, if nobody’s got any objections. Amos, that wand’s told us all it can—if Harry could have it back, please.” Diggory handed Harry his wand. Harry pocketed it.

“Don’t drop it this time,” Chrys muttered in his ear.

“No kidding,” Harry muttered back.

“Come on, you four,” Mr. Weasley said. Hermione was still staring at Winky. “Hermione!” They walked out of the clearing.

“What’s going to happen to Winky?” Hermione asked Mr. Weasley.

“I don’t know.”

“The way they were treating her! Mr. Diggory, calling her ‘elf’ all the time… and Mr. Crouch! He knows she didn’t do it and he’s still going to sack her! He didn’t care how frightened she’d been, or how upset she was—it was like she wasn’t even human!”

“Well, she’s not,” Ron said. Hermione glared at him.

“That doesn’t mean she hasn’t got feelings, Ron. It’s disgusting the way—”

“Hermione,” Mr. Weasley said. “I agree with you, but now is not the time to discuss elf rights. I want to get back to the tent as fast as we can. What happened to the others?”

“We lost them in the dark,” Ron told him. Hermione sobered up. They all picked up the pace. “Dad, why was everyone so uptight about that skull thing?”

“I’ll explain everything back at the tent,” Mr. Weasley said tensely.

At the edge of the wood, several people tried to speak to Mr. Weasley all at once.

“What’s going on in there?”

“Who conjured it?”

“Arthur—it’s not _Him?”_

“Of course it’s not Him,” Mr. Weasley said, trying to step around them. “We don’t know who it was—it looks like they Disapparated. Now excuse me, please, I want to go to bed.”

Charlie’s head poked out of the boys’ tent.

“Dad,” he said, relieved. “What’s going on? Fred, George, and Ginny got back okay, but the others—”

“I’ve got them here,” Mr. Weasley told him, bending down to enter the tent. They followed him. Bill was sitting at the kitchen table, holding a bed sheet to his bleeding arm. Percy had a bloody nose, and Charlie’s shirt was torn. Ginny was sitting next to Bill, watching him worriedly. Fred and George were standing on either side of her like bodyguards. She sprung up when she saw her dad, and rushed over to them. Mr. Weasley wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her back a bit.

“Did you get them, dad?” Bill asked after a moment. “The person who conjured the Mark?”

“No,” Mr. Weasley said as Ginny drew away from him. “We found Barty Crouch’s elf holding Harry’s wand, but we’re non the wiser about who actually conjured the Mark.”

“What?” Bill, Charlie, and Percy said together.

“Harry’s wand?” Fred repeated.

“ _Mr. Crouch’s elf?”_ Percy said, bewildered.

“Well…” Mr. Weasley sat down at the table. “When I apparated to the location where the Mark had been conjured, these four were there…” He looked at them grimly.

“Of course they were,” Fred said dryly.

“Well, it’s not as if we knew what was going to happen there!” Chrys said defensively. “We were just trying to keep out of the way… but then this man in the trees conjured that Dark Mark thing, and all these Ministry wizards turned up and pointed their wands at us—”

“At first they thought we’d done it, but then we told them whoever it was had been in the trees, and Diggory went to look, and he found Winky,” Ron continued.

“And for a while they thought Winky had done it,” Hermione said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“But house-elves can’t do that sort of magic… probably,” Harry said. “And definitely not without a wand—but I had dropped my wand, and somebody must have found it and used it to conjure the Mark. Diggory did this spell—”

“ _Prior Incantato_ ,” Hermione interjected.

“Right, that—and it proved someone had used my wand to conjure the Mark.” He frowned. “They must have ditched it after that, and poor Winky picked it up…”

“Well, of course Mr. Crouch’s house-elf wouldn’t have conjured the Dark Mark!” Percy said indignantly.

“Which is what we eventually all agreed on,” Mr. Weasley said tiredly.

“But he still sacked her anyway!” Hermione said. “Only because she left the tent when he told her not to!”

“Well, Mr. Crouch is quite right to get rid of an elf like that!” Percy thought. “Running away when he’d expressly told her not to… embarrassing him in front of the whole Ministry… how would that have looked, if she’d been brought up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control—”

“She didn’t do anything—she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time!” Hermione snapped. Percy had rarely been on Hermione’s bad side. He stared at her in shock for a moment before his haughty expression recovered.

“Hermione, a wizard in Mr. Crouch’s position can’t afford a house-elf who’s going to run amok with a wand!”

“She didn’t run amok!” Hermione shouted. “She just picked it up off the ground!”

“Look, can someone just explain what that skull thing was?” Ron said impatiently.

“Yes, let’s talk about that instead,” Chrys said, eyeing Hermione warily.

“It wasn’t hurting anyone… Why’s it such a big deal?” Ron wondered.

“I told you, it’s You-Know-Who’s symbol, Ron,” Hermione said sharply. “I read about it in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_.”

“Well, clearly they haven’t fallen completely,” Chrys thought, frowning.

They all went silent for a moment.

“It hasn’t been seen for thirteen years,” Mr. Weasley said quietly. “Of course people panicked… it was almost like seeing You-Know-Who back again.” Harry and Chrys looked at each other. Voldemort had been back—twice, that they knew of. But he was still weak. She couldn’t imagine how it must have been back when he was in full power…

“I don’t get it,” Ron said. “I mean… it’s only a shape in the sky…”

Mr. Weasley sighed. “Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed. The terror it inspired… you have no idea, you’re too young.” He stared at the table. “Just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you’re about to find inside…” He winced. “Everyone’s worst fear… the very worst…” Chrys thought of her boggart, the personification of her worst fear: Harry’s dead body.

Bill moved the bed sheet to check the cut on his arm. The bleeding had slowed down, but not stopped yet. “Well, it didn’t help us tonight, whoever conjured it,” he said. “It scared he Death Eaters away the moment they saw it. They all disapparated before we’d got near enough to unmask any of them. We caught the Robertses before they hit the ground, though. They’re having their memories modified right now.”

Horrible, Chrys thought. Her brow furrowed.

“Death Eaters?” She wondered.

“What are Death Eaters?” Harry asked.

“It’s what You-Know-Who’s supporters called themselves,” Bill told them. “I think we saw what’s left of them tonight—the ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway.” So, innocent people like Sirius got thrown into jail to deal with the soul-sucking dementors, while these Death Eaters ran free? What good was Azkaban anyway?

“We can’t prove it was them, Bill,” Mr. Weasley said. He grimaced. “Though it probably was.”

“Yeah, I bet it was!” Ron said. “Dad, we met Draco Malfoy in the woods, and he as good as told us his dad was one of those nutters in masks! And we all know the Malfoys were right in with You-Know-Who!”

“But what are Voldemort’s supporters—” Harry started. Everybody flinched at the name.

Chrys sighed. “Harry…” She reminded him.

“Sorry,” Harry said quickly. “What were _You-Know-Who’s_ supporters up to, levitating muggles? I mean, what was the point?”

“The point?” Mr. Weasley laughed bitterly. “Harry, that’s their idea of fun. Half the muggle killings back when You-Know-Who was in power were done for fun.”

“Lovely,” Chrys muttered.

“I suppose they had a few drinks tonight and couldn’t resist reminding us all that lots of them are still at large,” Mr. Weasley thought. His nose wrinkled. “A nice little reunion for them.”

“But if they _were_ Death Eaters, why did they disapparate when they saw the Dark Mark?” Ron wondered. “They’d have been pleased to see it, wouldn’t they?”

Chrys chewed at her lip.

“Use your brains, Ron,” Bill said. “If they really were Death Eaters, they worked very hard to keep out of Azkaban when You-Know-Who lost power, and told all sorts of lies about him forcing them to kill and torture people. I bet they’d be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they’d ever been involved with him when he lost his powers, and went back to their daily lives… I don’t think he’d be over-pleased with them, do you?” Chrys shook her head.

“So… whoever conjured the Dark Mark…” Hermione said slowly. “Were they doing it to show support for the Death Eaters, or to scare them away?”

“Your guess is as good as ours, Hermione,” Mr. Weasley said. “But I’ll tell you this, it was only the Death Eaters who ever knew how to conjure it. I’d be very surprised if the person who did it hadn’t been a Death Eater once… even if they’re not now.” He stood up and looked around at them “Listen, it’s very late, and if your mother hears what’s happened she’ll be worried sick. We’ll get a few more hours sleep and then try and get an early Portkey out of here.”

The girls went back to their tent and their beds, but Chrys lay awake for some time, clutching her wand and staring at the canvas ceiling.


	8. Of Long Nights and Last Days of Summer

Only a few hours later, Mr. Weasley woke them. They packed the tents up with magic, abandoning protocol and secrecy in favor of speed. Then they walked up the hill pass Mr. Roberts’ door.

He waved vaguely. “Merry Christmas…”

Chrys frowned. “He’ll be alright,” Mr. Weasley told her quietly. “Sometimes when a person’s memory’s modified it makes them a bit disoriented for a while… And that was a big thing they had to make him forget.” Chrys nodded.

On the top of the hill, people surrounded Basil, all badgering him for a portkey. Mr. Weasley spoke with him quickly, and then they joined the queue. Before the sun rose, they took an old rubber tire back to Stoatshead Hill. They walked back to the Burrow, yawning in the first light of the day.

“Oh thank goodness!” Mr. Weasley’s slippers flopped hard against the ground as she came running towards them, clutching a rolled up newspaper in her hand. “Thank goodness! Arthur, I’ve been so worried, so worried.” She threw her hands around his neck, dropping the paper. Chrys stared down at the picture of the Dark Mark, and the headline: _Scenes of Terror at the Quidditch World Cup_. Mrs. Weasley released her husband and looked around at them. “You’re all right…” Her eyes were red. “You’re alive…Oh boys!” She pulled Fred and George into a hug so quickly their heads banged together.

Everyone stared at them in surprise.

“Ouch!” Fred said. “Mum! You’re strangling us!”

“I shouted at you before you left!” Mrs. Weasley sobbed. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn’t get enough O.W.Ls? Oh Fred… George…”

“Come on, now, Molly, we’re all perfectly okay,” Mr. Weasley said gently. He peeled her off the twins and led her back to the door. “Bill,” he whispered over his shoulder. “Pick up that paper, I want to see what it says.”

They gathered in the kitchen. Ron made Mrs. Weasley a strong cup of tea, into which Mr. Weasley poured a shot of Ogdens Old Firewhiskey. Bill handed him the newspaper. Chrys and Percy maneuvered through the cramped kitchen to look at it over his shoulder.

Chrys frowned. The article gave its readers very little helpful information. It mostly complained about how inept the Ministry had been.

“I knew it…” Mr. Weasley groaned. “Who wrote this? Ah… of course… Rita Skeeter.”

“That woman’s got it in for the Ministry of Magic!” Percy said. “Last week she was saying we’re wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn’t _specifically_ stated in paragraph twelve of the _Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans_ —”

“Do us a favor, Perce,” Bill said, yawning. “Shut up.” Percy frowned.

“Look.” Chrys pointed at the paper. “They mentioned you, Mr. Weasley.”

“Ah.” His eyes widened. “Yes.”

Mrs. Weasley choked on her tea. “Where? If I’d seen that, I’d have known you were alive!”

“Not by name,” Mr. Weasley said hurriedly. “Listen to this: _“A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark, alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen—_ Oh really!” He handed the paper behind him to Percy. “Nobody _was_ hurt. What was I supposed to say? _Rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods…_ well, there certainly will be rumors now she’s printed that.” He sighed deeply. “Molly, I’m going to have to go into the office. This is going to take some smoothing over.” Percy folded the paper and handed it to Chrys.

“I’ll come with you, father,” he said, holding his head up high. “Mr. Crouch will need all hands on deck.” Hermione scowled. “And I can give him my cauldron report in person.” He ran out of the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley frowned.

“Arthur, you’re supposed to be on holiday! This hasn’t got anything to do with your office—surely they can handle this without you?”

“I’ve got to go, Molly,” he told her. “I’ve made things worse.”

“This…” Chrys waved the paper in the air. “This isn’t your fault.”

Mr. Weasley smiled slightly, patting her on the shoulder. “Nevertheless…” He leaned over and kissed Mrs. Weasley on the cheek. “I’ll just change into my robes and be off…”

“Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said suddenly as Mr. Weasley left. “Hedwig hasn’t arrived with a letter from me, has she?”

“Hedwig, dear?” Mrs. Weasley said distractedly. “No… no, there hasn’t been any post at all.” Hermione and Ron looked at him, curious. Chrys met his eyes knowingly.

“All right if I go and dump my stuff in your room, Ron?” Harry said, shooting him a meaningful look.

“Yeah… think I will too,” Ron said.

“I’ll come too,” Chrys said. “I think I left something in your bag, Harry. Hermione, help me look for it.” The four of them went off.

“What’s up, Harry?” Ron asked as he closed his door behind them.

“There’s something we haven’t told you,” Harry said. “On Saturday morning we woke up with our scars hurting.”

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed. “I tried to read about curse scars after our first year, but there was frustratingly little information available. Maybe we can ask Professor Dumbledore—or Madam Pomfrey, I’m sure she’d know _something_ relevant, and—”

“—But, he wasn’t there, was he?” Ron said nervously. “You-Know-Who? I mean—last time your scars kept hurting, he was at Hogwarts, wasn’t he?” Harry and Chrys shared another look. Their friends had reacted exactly as they’d expected they would.

“I’m sure he wasn’t on Privet Drive,” Harry said. “But I was dreaming about him… him and Peter—you know, Wormtail.” Chrys made a face. “I can’t remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill… someone.”

Chrys sighed. He had specifically left out the fact that it was _them_ Voldemort and Wormtail had been plotting to kill.

“It was only a dream,” Ron thought. “Just a nightmare.”

“Yeah, but was it, though?” Harry looked out the window. “It’s weird, isn’t it? My scar hurts, and three days later the Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort’s sign’s up in the sky again.”

“Don’t—say—his—name!” Ron bit out.

“And Chrys thought of what Trelawney said at the end of last year,” Harry continued.

Hermione snorted. “You aren’t going to pay attention to anything that old fraud says?”

Harry frowned. “You weren’t there,” he said to her. “You didn’t hear her. This time was different. I told you, she went into a trance—a real one. And she said the Dark Lord would rise again… _greater and more terrible than ever before_ … and he’d manage it because his servant was going to go back to him… and that night Wormtail escaped.”

Ron played with a hole in his orange bed sheet.

“Why were you asking if Hedwig had come, Harry?” Hermione asked, watching him carefully. “Are you expecting a letter?”

“I told Sirius about my scar.” He shrugged. “I’m waiting for his answer.”

“Good thinking!” Ron said, perking up a bit. “I bet Sirius’ll know what to do!”

“I hoped he’d get back to me quickly,” Harry said, a little disappointed.

“But we don’t know where Sirius is… he could be in Africa or somewhere, couldn’t he?” Hermione reasoned. “Hedwig’s not going to manage _that_ journey in a few days.”

“Yeah, I know…” Harry turned back to the window.

“I said I wanted to write to Lupin,” Chrys said. Harry frowned at her.

“Ooh!” Hermione said. “ _That’s_ a good idea. Have you?” Chrys shook her head.

“You said you’d wait until after we’d heard from Sirius,” Harry reminded her.

“I know, I know,” Chrys said, holding her hands up in surrender. She and Harry frowned at each other. Hermione sighed.

Ron stood up suddenly. “Come on, Harry—three on three, Bill and Charlie and Fred and George will play… you can try out the Wronski Feint.”

“Ron,” Hermione admonished. “Harry doesn’t want to play Quidditch right now… he’s worried, and he’s tired… we all need to go to bed…”

“Yeah, I want to play Quidditch,” Harry said, standing as well. “Hang on, I’ll get my Firebolt.” He raced out of the room.

“Boys,” she muttered under her breath as she left too. Chrys turned to Ron.

“Wronski Feint… Isn’t that the move where Krum tricked Lynch into smashing his face into the ground?” She recalled.

“Yeah…” Ron said dreamily.

Chrys thought Hermione had a point. She went to Ginny’s room and actually fell asleep fairly quickly.

The next few days were busy, but in smaller, less stressful ways. Mrs. Weasley took the girls to the used clothing store in the nearby muggle village, Ottery St. Catchpole. The shop was run by two muggleborns witches so they sold clothes for both communities. The main goal, Mrs. Weasley said, was to buy dress robes, which were on Chrys and Hermione’s school lists this year.

“I’ve already picked something up for the boys, but I thought you two might want to look for yourselves,” she said.

“How come they need dress robes and I don’t?” Ginny wondered.

“Oh… I expect it has to do with your age,” Mrs. Weasley thought. Ginny frowned.

“I’m not sure you’re missing much, Gin,” Chrys said, picking up a robe with a high lacy collar. Mrs. Weasley blushed for some reason.

“Oh, I don’t think it’s so bad…” The dress robes were like a combination between the Victorian ball gowns in the romance movies Chrys sometimes caught Aunt Petunia watching when the boys were out, and regular wizard robes. “Don’t worry, if you don’t find something here, I expect you’ll have time to pick something up in Hogsmeade before… before you need it.”

Chrys and Hermione were a bit intimidated, and decided to take her advice.

In the muggle section, Chrys got a lot of new clothes, things that actually fit her for once. And when Ginny dragged her over to look at the athletic gear, one of the shop owners noticed Chrys eyeing the sports bras and politely asked her if she’d like to try some on. Once Chrys got over her embarrassment, she tried a few on, and found one that was comfortable. She had started jogging with Ginny last year, but when she tried over the summer in Surrey, she had ended up quite sore and gave up after the first try.

Now she was ready to race Ginny back to the Burrow—that is, if they hadn’t bought so much they had to carry.

At night Chrys helped set the table out in the yard. Two of the plates went untouched. Mrs. Weasley sighed and brought them in to the kitchen.

Mr. Weasley and Percy had been leaving the house before everyone woke up in the morning, and coming back just as it was time to go back to bed.

Percy got back a little earlier Wednesday evening, and took his supper in the sitting room while the others hung around.

“It’s been an absolute uproar,” Percy said, trying to suppress his excitement. “I’ve been putting out fires all week.”

“Literally?” Chrys wondered, looking up from her sketchbook. Percy nodded.

“People keep sending Howlers, and of course, if you don’t open a Howler straight away, it explodes. Scorch marks all over my desk and my best quill reduced to cinders.”

“Poor quill,” Chrys said sympathetically. She was always losing and breaking hers accidentally. “You should borrow Charlie’s balaclava.” She pointed at the black blob he was darning. Apparently, it was fireproof.

“Sure,” Charlie said, weaving another stitch. “After I’m done mending it.”

“No thank you,” Percy said. “I’m not confident of your knitting skills— Ginny’s Spellotape is probably more sturdy.” Charlie made sure his mother wasn’t looking, and then made a rude gesture at Percy, who scoffed.

“Well, you can’t use it, I’m not done with it yet,” Ginny said, pulling another strip of Spellotape over the broken spine of her copy of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi._ “Anyway, why are they all sending Howlers, Perce?”

“Complaining about security at the World Cup,” Percy told her. “They want compensation for their ruined property. Mundugus Fletcher’s put in a claim for a twelve-bedroom tent with en-suite Jacuzzi, but I’ve got his number—I know for a fact he was sleeping under a cloak propped on sticks.”

“But, it’s magic, right?” Chrys said. “Couldn’t there have been a Jacuzzi hiding under the cloak somehow?” Percy’s brow furrowed.

“That would have to be a very strong undetectable extension charm and—well, anyway, it’s highly unlikely, Chrysanthemum.”

Chrys raised an eyebrow at him. “Unlikely, but not impossible, right?”

Percy frowned. “Are you just saying that to be difficult, Chrysanthemum?”

“Are you just calling me Chrysanthemum to be difficult, Percy?”

“It’s your name!” Percy protested.

“I’ve told you to call me Chrys!”

Ginny giggled. Harry paused his polishing of his broomstick, his lips twitching.

“Mother,” Percy said, turning to her in frustration.

“Hmm?” Mrs. Weasley glanced away from the grandfather clock. “What was that, dear?” Percy looked from her to the clock.

There were nine clock hands, each engraved with a name of one of the Weasleys. Instead of numbers, there were locations around the clock face. Each hand showed where each member of the family was at that time. Currently eight of the hands were pointed at ‘home,’ but Mr. Weasley’s clock hand was still pointed at ‘work.’

“Nothing, mother,” Percy said softly. Mrs. Weasley sighed.

“Your father hasn’t had to go into the office on weekends since the days of You-Know-Who,” she said. “They’re working him far too hard. His dinner’s going to be ruined if he doesn’t come home soon.”

“Well, father feels he’s got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn’t he?” Percy said. Mrs. Weasley’s expression darkened. Ginny shot Percy a warning look that he didn’t seem to notice. “If truth be told, he was a tad unwise to make a public statement without clearing it with his Head of Department first—”

“Don’t you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote!” Mrs. Weasley burst out.

“If dad hadn’t said anything, old Rita would just have said it was disgraceful that nobody from the Ministry had commented,” Bill said, scratching his chin as he considered his next move. He and Ron were playing wizard chess. Chrys had watched them for a while, but they were moving too quickly for her to really keep up. “Rita Skeeter never makes anyone look good. Remember, she interviewed all the Gringotts’ Charms Breakers once, and called me ‘a long-haired pillock’?”

“Well, it _is_ a bit long, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, fingering her wand. “If you’d just let me—”

“ _No_ , mum.”

Mrs. Weasley looked over to where Fred and George were sitting in the corner, whispering over a piece of parchment.

“What are you two up to?” She asked sharply.

“Homework,” Fred said vaguely.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re still on holiday,” Mrs. Weasley said. Chrys looked at Hermione, who was intensely focused on _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4_ , copies of which Mrs. Weasley had bought for them the other day in Diagon Alley.

“Yeah, we left it a bit late,” George said.

“You’re not, by any chance, writing out a new _order form_ , are you?” Mrs. Weasley asked. “You wouldn’t be thinking of restarting Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, by any chance?”

“Now, mum,” Fred said, looking up at her with a pained expression on his face. “If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel to know that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?”

Everyone laughed, except for Chrys, who had a suddenly image of a faceless Voldemort attacking the train… Mrs. Weasley did laugh, though—And her face brightened even more when Mr. Weasley’s clock hand start to move.

“Oh you’re father’s coming!” She stood up as he called from the kitchen. “Coming, Arthur!” She hurried out of the room. They came back a moment later, her carrying a tray with his food on it. Mr. Weasley sat in the armchair near the hearth.

“Well, the fat’s really in the fire now,” he said, poking distractedly at his cauliflower. “Rita Skeeter’s been ferreting around all week, looking for more Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she’s found out about poor old Bertha going missing, so that’ll be the headline in the _Prophet_ tomorrow. I _told_ Bagman he should have sent someone to look for her ages ago.”

“Mr. Crouch has been saying it for weeks and weeks,” Percy said vindictively.

“Crouch is very lucky Rita hasn’t found out about Winky,” Mr. Weasley said, annoyed. “There’d be a week’s worth of headlines in his house-elf being caught holding the wand that conjured the Dark Mark.”

“And that it was Harry’s wand,” Chrys muttered. Harry cringed.

“I thought we were all agreed that the elf, while irresponsible, did _not_ conjure the Mark?” Percy said hotly.

“If you ask me, Mr. Crouch is very lucky no one at the _Daily Prophet_ knows how mean he is to elves!” Hermione said in the same tone.

Still better than how Lucius Malfoy treated Dobby, Chrys thought.

“Now look here, Hermione!” Percy said. “A high-ranking Ministry official like Mr. Crouch deserves unwavering obedience from his servants—”

“His _slave_ , you mean!” Hermione said loudly. “Because he didn’t _pay_ Winky, did he?”

“I think you’d all better go upstairs and check that you’ve packed properly!” Mrs. Weasley interrupted. “Come on now, all of you…” Harry packed up his broom servicing kit and rested his broom on his shoulder as he headed up the stairs. Chrys got up from her comfortable spot lying on the carpet in front of the fire with Ginny.

“Come on, Hermione,” Chrys said tiredly. She put her hand on Hermione’s back and steered her towards the stairs. “You can make me a packing list.”

“Oh, all right,” Hermione said, somewhat mollified—until they got upstairs.

“Ooh, he’s so annoying!” She grumbled as they spread their stuff out over their cots in Ginny’s room.

“Who, Percy?” Ginny said mildly. Hermione nodded, sitting on her bed and stroking Crookshanks. “Yeah, that’s the general opinion, ‘Mione.”

“But I always thought he was more reasonable than this,” Hermione continued.

“Oh Percy’s always reasonable,” Ginny said. “He just has his own from specific brand of reasoning. If you don’t meet his standards, then you’re the one being unreasonable, in his eyes.” Chrys picked up a sock from the pile of clothes on her bed and examined it.

It had a pattern of kittens on it. “This is cute, but not mine.”

“It’s mine.” Hermione took it from her.


	9. Of a Train and Rain

Chrys happily changed into her new jeans the next morning.

“Nice.” Ginny gave her a thumb’s up.

For once the girls made it downstairs first.

“Morning,” Mrs. Weasley said. She gestured at the table. “We’ve got toast, eggs, bacon and—oh, hello, Amos. Are you hungry? I’ll give you a bit of toast if you like.” They followed her gaze to the fire. Chrys and Hermione jumped. Amos Diggory’s head was sitting in the fire, like the rest of his body was buried somewhere beneath the logs.

“Hello, Molly,” Diggory said, his brow furrowed. “I’m afraid it’s urgent business—need to speak to Arthur.”

Molly frowned. “I’ll fetch him.” She stepped out into the hall.

Chrys and Hermione were left staring at Diggory’s head as Ginny unconcernedly plated some toast. “Butter?” She offered Chrys.

“Arthur!” They heard Mrs. Weasley shout. “Arthur! Urgent message from the Ministry!” Mr. Weasley came running in, Mrs. Weasley following shortly behind him.

“Amos! What is it?”

“Mad-Eye Moody,” Diggory said tiredly. Mr. Weasley frowned. Chrys noticed his robes were on backwards, and his hair was almost as bad as Harry’s.

“What happened to Moody?”

“More like, what did Moody happen to,” Diggory thought. “We’ve had a report that the—” He paused. “Hang on, you’d better write this down.”

“Yes, of course, I just need…” Mr. Weasley looked around wildly. Mrs. Weasley started opening drawers and looking through them.

“Here’s some parchment!” She handed it over. “Quill… quill…” She shook her head, frustrated. ”I’ve got a quill here somewhere!”

“Chrys has one behind her ear,” Harry said, as he, Ron, Fred, and George entered the kitchen. Fred grinned and reached behind her ear. He held up the quill.

“Oh.” She snatched it from him and handed it to Mr. Weasley. “It’s self-inking,” she told him proudly.

“Thank you!” Mr. Weasley beamed, patting her on the shoulder before turning back to the fire and waiting intently.

"So, it was at Moody's place of residence," Diggory said, reading out an address for him. Mr. Weasley jotted it down. Harry spotted the head, and blinked. He looked questioningly at Chrys. She shrugged. “…Muggle neighbors heard bangs and shouting, so they went and called those what-d’you-call-‘ems—please-men." Hermione opened her mouth to correct him, seemed to think better of it, and took a bite of toast instead. “—It’s a real stroke of luck I heard about it. I had come into the office early to send a couple of owls, and I found the Improper Use of Magic lot all setting off—if Rita Skeeter gets a hold of this one, Arthur—”

“What did Mad-Eye say happened?” Mr. Weasley wanted to know, quill poised at the ready.

Diggory rolled his eyes. “Says he heard an intruder in his yard. Says he was creeping toward the house, but was ambushed by his dustbins.”

Everyone listened to the conversation as George passed around plates of food.

“What did the dustbins do?” Mr. Weasley asked, scribbling down his notes.

“Made one hell of a noise and fired rubbish everywhere, as far as I can tell,” Diggory told him. Chrys had no idea what they were talking about, but it sounded kind of amusing. “Apparently one of them was still rocketing around when the please-men turned up—”

Mr. Weasley groaned. “And what about the intruder?”

“Arthur, you know Mad-Eye,” Diggory said rolling his eyes again. “Someone creeping into his yard in the dead of night? More likely there’s a very shell-shocked cat wandering around somewhere, covered in potato peelings. But if the Improper Use of Magic lot get their hands on Mad-Eye, he’s had it—think of his record—we’ve got to get him off on a minor charge, something in your department—what are exploding dustbins worth?”

“Might be a caution,” Mr. Weasley said. He was writing so fast the quill blurred. “Mad-Eye didn’t use his wand? He didn’t actually attack anyone?”

“I’ll bet he leapt out of bed and started jinxing everything he could reach through the window,” Diggory said. “But they’ll have a job proving it, there aren’t any causalities.”

“Alright, I’m off.” Mr. Weasley stuffed the parchment back into his pocket and ran out of the kitchen again. Diggory looked at Mrs. Weasley.

“Sorry about this, Molly… bothering you so early and everything… but Arthur’s the only one who can get Mad-Eye off, and Mad-Eye’s supposed to be starting his new job today. Why he had to choose last night…”

“Never mind, Amos,” Mrs. Weasley said. “Sure you won’t have a bit of toast or anything before you go?”

“Oh go on then,” Diggory said. Mrs. Weasley picked up a piece of toast with the tongs and placed it in Diggory’s mouth.

“Fanks,” he muttered, and then disappeared with a pop.

“Magic,” Harry said to Chrys in awe.

“Magic,” she agreed, nodding.

Out in the hall, Mr. Weasley was saying goodbye to Bill and Charlie. He stepped back into the kitchen to say goodbye to the rest of them. He handed Chrys back her quill. His robes were on the right way around now, and he was running a comb through his thinning hair.

“I’d better hurry—you have a good term, boys— and girls.” He kissed Ginny on the head and then pulled on his cloak. “Molly, are you going to be all right taking the kids to King’s Cross?”

“Of course I will,” she said. “You just look after Mad-Eye, we’ll be fine.” Mr. Weasley disappeared. Mrs. Weasley sighed.

Bill and Charlie came into the room.

“Did someone say Mad-Eye?” Bill wondered. “What’s he been up to now?”

“He says someone tried to break into his house last night,” Mrs. Weasley told him.

“Mad-Eye Moody?” George said, spreading marmalade on his toast. “Isn’t he that nutter—”

“Your father thinks very highly of Mad-Eye Moody,” Mrs. Weasley admonished him.

“Yeah, well, dad collects plugs, doesn’t he?” Fred said quietly as Mrs. Weasley left the room. “Birds of a feather….”

Chrys frowned. “I like your dad,” she said.

“So do we,” Fred and George said together.

“Doesn’t mean he’s not a bit…” Fred gestured vaguely.

“Ah, dad…” Ginny said fondly. Ron snorted.

“Moody was a great wizard in his time,” Bill said thoughtfully.

“He’s an old friend of Dumbledore’s, isn’t he?” Charlie recalled.

“Dumbledore’s not what you’d call _normal_ , though, is he?” Fred pointed out.

Hermione frowned. “But—” Chrys started. Fred waved his hand.

“I mean, I know he’s a genius and everything…”

“But who _is_ Mad-Eye?” Chrys and Harry asked in unison.

“He’s retired, used to work at the Ministry,” Charlie told them. “I met him once when dad took me into work with him. He was an auror—one of the best—” Harry, Chrys, and Hermione stared at him. “—A dark wizard catcher. Half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him. He made himself loads of enemies, though… the families of people he caught, mainly… and I heard he’s been getting really paranoid in his old age. Doesn’t trust anyone anymore. Sees Dark wizards everywhere.”

“Oh dear,” Hermione said. “That could get dangerous.”

"Are you coming to see us off?" Ginny asked her three eldest brothers as they started cleaning up. Charlie and Bill exchanged a look.

"Yeah, alright," Charlie said.

"How could we say 'no' to that face?" Bill said, ruffling her hair. Ginny pouted at him, before turning to Percy.

"No," Percy said, without looking up from the paperwork he'd brought to the table. Ginny kicked his chair. Percy looked at her apologetically. "Sorry, Gin, I really am, but I really need to get to work." Ginny frowned at him as he stood up, straightening his glasses. "I just can't justify taking more time off at the moment. Mr. Crouch is really starting to rely on me." Hermione glowered, as she did every time Crouch was mentioned.

"Yeah, you know what, Percy?" George said, glancing at Hermione. "I reckon he'll know your name soon." Percy flushed and disapparated. Charlie and Bill said they'd hang back at the house and meet the others at the station.

Mrs. Weasley had ordered muggle taxis on the phone in the village post office. She wasn’t sure the call had gone through, and was relieved when the two cars pulled up in front of the house. She was less relieved when she saw the expression on the drivers’ faces as they pulled their trunks up to the front gate.

“Oh dear, they don’t look happy, do they?”

Harry opened his mouth. Fireworks exploded out of Fred’s trunk. Crookshanks howled and jumped claws-out onto the driver’s leg. Hermione and Ginny pried Crookshanks off, as Harry and Mrs. Weasley apologized for the trouble.

By the time Hermione and Ginny got control of Crookshanks, they were both very scratched up.

“Can’t I switch cars with you?” Ron asked Harry, eyeing the cat nervously as Hermione struggled to get him inside.

“Not a chance, mate,” Harry said.

“Great, thanks, real friend you are.”

Fred and George snickered.

However, they weren’t much better off in the second car. Harry sat up front, making polite, awkward conversation with the driver, while Fred, George, and Chrys were cramped in the back with their trunks on their laps.

“I can’t feel my legs,” George grumbled, shuffling. Fred kicked him. “Nope, didn’t feel a thing.”

Chrys was wobbly on her legs as they got out into the pouring rain. She slipped on the pavement, but Harry caught her by the back of her sweater.

“Don’t you love London?” She said dryly, squinting through her fogged up glasses.

They went through the magical barrier in groups. All around them the hustle and bustle of the muggle Kings Cross was exchanged for the busyness of the wizarding Platform 9 ¾. They stowed their trunks on the train and then stepped back off to say goodbye to Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie.

“You need to visit more often,” Ginny scolded her older brothers.

“Aw, you sound just like mum,” Charlie said, pinching her cheek. Mrs. Weasley looked at him. He held a hand up. “Not that that’s a bad thing…” Bill chuckled. “But…” Charlie pulled Ginny into a hug. “I might be seeing you all sooner than you think.” He grinned.

“Why?” Fred asked, curious.

“You’ll see. Just don’t tell Percy I mentioned it… it’s ‘classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it,’ after all.”

“Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year,” Bill said wistfully staring at the train with his hands in his pockets.

“ _Why_?” George repeated.

“You’re going to have an interesting year,” Bill said, smiling mysteriously. “I might even get time off and watch a bit of it…”

“A bit of _what_?” Ron asked.

The train whistled and Mrs. Weasley shooed them back onto the train.

Hermione leaned out of the window. “Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry and Chrys said.

“Oh it was my pleasure, dears,” she said. “I’d invite you for Christmas, but… well, I expect you’re going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with… one thing and another.”

“Mum!” Ron said, annoyed. “What d’you three know that we don’t?”

“You’ll find out this evening, I expect,” Mrs. Weasley said. “It’s going to be very exciting—mind you, I’m very glad they’ve changed the rules—”

“What rules?” Chrys, Harry, Fred, and George all said together.

“I’m sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you… now, behave, won’t you? _Won’t_ you, Fred? And you, George?”

The train whistled again and started to move.

“Tell us what’s happening at Hogwarts!” Fred shouted out the window. “What rules are they changing?” But the platform had already disappeared behind them. “Damn.” He frowned. George shrugged.

“We’ll figure it out tonight, I guess.” He waved, as they split off. “See you lot later!”

The quartet settled down in their compartment, watching the rain splatter against the windowpanes. Pigwidgeon seemed to think the noises needed a response, and was hooting back as loudly as he could. Ron pulled a set of maroon robes out of his trunk, and threw them on top of Pig’s cage. Chrys stared. The high lacy collar was exactly like the one she’d seen in the used shop in Ottery St. Catchpole. Now she knew why Mrs. Weasley had blushed. She must have picked up a similar set of robes for Ron…

“… Are those your dress robes?”

Ron stiffened. “Yeah. So?”

Chrys patted him on the shoulder. Ron shrugged her off.

“I wonder if the dress robes have something to do with whatever’s happening in the castle this year?” Hermione said thoughtfully. Ron looked at her.

“You two have dress robes as well?”

“No, we haven’t gotten ours yet,” Chrys told him.

“You can have mine,” Ron offered.

“How very kind of you… no thank you.”

Ron sighed and slumped into his seat next to Harry.

“Bagman wanted to tell us what’s happening at Hogwarts,” Ron grumbled. “At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won’t say. Wonder what—”

Hermione shushed him, putting her finger to her lips and pointing at the compartment across from them. Both compartment doors were slightly ajar, so they could here the other conversation.

“… Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know,” Draco Malfoy was saying. “He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore—the man’s such a Mudblood-lover—” Chrys clenched her hands into fists. “—And Durmstrang doesn’t admit that sort of riffraff. But mother didn’t like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually _learn_ them, not just the defense rubbish we do…”

Hermione quietly closed their compartment door, blocking him out.

“So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?” She said hotly. “I wish he _had_ gone, then we wouldn’t have to put up with him.”

“Durmstrang’s another wizarding school?” Harry guessed.

“Yes.” Hermione stuck her nose up. “And it’s got a horrible reputation. According to _An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe_ , it puts a lot of emphasis on the Dark Arts.”

Ron frowned. “I think I’ve heard of it. Where is it? What country?”

“Well, nobody knows, do they?” Hermione said, raising her eyebrows.

“Er—why not?” Harry wondered.

“There’s traditionally been a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools,” she explained. “Durmstrang and Beauxbatons like to conceal their whereabouts so nobody can steal their secrets.”

“Come off it,” Ron said, laughing. “Durmstrang’s got to be about the same size as Hogwarts—how are you going to hide a great big castle?” Hermione opened her mouth.

“But isn’t Hogwarts hidden?” Chrys thought. Ron and Harry looked at her weirdly.

“Of course it is!” Hermione said. “Everyone knows that…” Ron and Harry turned to her. “…Well, everyone who’s read _Hogwarts, A History_ anyway.”

“Just you, then,” Ron said. “And Chrys, for some reason.”

“Hey!” Chrys said. “I’ve read _Hogwarts, A History_.” Hermione looked at her. Chrys avoided eye contact. “Some of it… once…” Harry grinned.

“So go on,” Ron prompted Hermione. “How d’you hide a place like Hogwarts?”

“It’s bewitched,” Hermione said. “If a muggle looks at it, all they see is a moldering old ruin with a sign over the entrance saying _Danger, Do Not Enter, Unsafe._ ”

“So, like the Muggle Repelling charms on the World Cup Stadium,” Chrys said, recalling what Mr. Weasley had said. Hermione tilted her head.

“Similar, but not with the same exact effects. For example: a muggle repelling charm would—”

“But what stops wizards from finding it?” Chrys wondered.

“Well, it’ll be Unplottable—”

“Come again?” Ron said.

“Well, you can enchant a building so it’s impossible to plot on a map, can’t you?” Hermione said, as if this were common knowledge.

“Er… if you say so,” Harry said.

“But I think Durmstrang is somewhere in the far north. Somewhere very cold, because they’ve got fur capes as part of their uniforms,” Hermione reasoned.

“Ah, think of the possibilities,” Ron said dreamily. “It would’ve been so easy to push Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident… Shame his mother likes him…”

They played exploding snap for a while until Hermione got bored and took out _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4._ Ron rolled his eyes, but cheered up when the lunch trolley came along, and Harry bought a huge stack of Cauldron Cakes.

Chrys restocked her stash of licorice wands, and chewed at the end of one as she started a new sketch of Crookshanks, who had finally calmed down from the earlier fireworks incident, and was curled up in his basket near Hermione’s feet.

Over the next several hours, the quartet had visits from some of their friends. Seamus and Dean stopped in to talk about the game. Seamus was still wearing his green rosette, but the charm had worn off, and the voice that said: ‘ _Tory—Mullet—Moran!_ ’ sounded high-pitched and tired. Then Neville came, listening excitedly to their play-by-plays. Chrys’ friend Padma stopped in as well. Hermione looked up from her book hopefully. Padma sometimes attended Ernie Macmillian’s study group, so Hermione was probably hoping for some talk about something other than Quidditch. Then Padma and Seamus got into an argument over the efficacy of Lynch’s flying style. Hermione groaned.

“Hey, why don’t we take this outside?” Dean suggested. “It’s getting a little crowded in here…”

“Okay,” Padma said, frowning at Seamus. She pointed strongly at him. “But don’t think this is over, Finnigan.” She left down the corridor. Seamus scoffed.

“Over my dead body!” He stomped after her.

Dean rolled his eyes and waved goodbye to the others as he went after his best friend.

Neville lingered. “Were you at the game?” Chrys wondered. She hadn’t seen him there, but she hadn’t seen Padma and her family either.

Neville shook his head miserably.

“Gran didn’t want to go. Wouldn’t buy tickets. It sounded amazing though.”

“It was,” Ron agreed.

“Apart from the…” Chrys paused. Neville paled.

“Look at this, Neville,” Ron said, reaching into his bag. He pulled out his figurine of Krum.

“Oh _wow_ ,” Neville said as Ron handed it over.

“We saw him right up close, as well,” Ron bragged. “We were in the Top Box—”

“For the first and last time in your life, Weasley,” Malfoy said from the doorway. His cronies Crabbe and Goyle were standing behind him.

“Don’t remember asking you to join us, Malfoy,” Harry said coolly.

“Yeah…” Chrys said. “Dean shouldn’t have left the door open, it encourages unwanted guests.” But Malfoy was ignoring her. He’d spotted Ron’s dress robes, still hanging over Pig’s cage. Uh-oh.

“Weasley… what is _that_?” He pointed. Ron reached for his robes, but Malfoy was quicker. He held them up, delighted. “Look at this! Weasley, you weren’t thinking of _wearing_ these, were you? I mean, they were very fashionable in about eighteen ninety…”

“Eat dung, Malfoy!” Ron said very eloquently. His face was the same red as his dress robes. He snatched them back as Malfoy and his goons laughed like villains in a cartoon.

“So… going to enter, Weasley? Going to bring a bit of glory to the family name?” He asked mockingly. Chrys and Harry exchanged a confused look. “There’s money involved as well, you know… you’d probably be able to afford some decent robes if you won…”

“What are you talking about?” Ron snapped.

“ _Are you going to enter_?” Malfoy repeated. “I suppose _you_ will, Harry Potter? You never miss a chance to show off, do you?”

“Either explain what you’re on about or go away, Malfoy,” Hermione said without looking up from her book. Malfoy blinked and then slowly grinned.

“Don’t tell me you don’t _know_?” He sounded even more delighted about whatever-this-was than he had about Ron’s dress robes. “My God, _my_ father told me about it ages ago… heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, father’s always been associated with the top people at the Ministry… maybe your father’s too junior to know about it, Weasley… yes… they probably don’t talk about anything important in front of him…” He laughed as he left.

Ron slammed the door behind him so hard the glass broke.

“Ron!” Hermione pulled out her wand. “ _Reparo!”_ The glass flew back together.

“Well… making it look like he knows everything and we don’t…” Ron growled. “ _Father’s always associated with the top people at the Ministry_ … dad could’ve got a promotion any time… he just likes it where he is…”

“Of course he does,” Hermione said quietly. “Don’t let Malfoy get to you, Ron—”

“Him! Get to me?” Ron scoffed. “As if!” He picked up a Cauldron Cake and squashed it in his fist. They sat quietly for a couple of minutes.

“You know, Ron…” Chrys said slowly. “It seems to me that everybody at the Ministry genuinely likes your dad—but I doubt anybody would give Lucius Malfoy the time of day without his _generous donations_ to back him up.”

Ron’s eyes softened slightly. “Yeah…” He let out a breath. “Still…”

He was in a mood for the rest of the ride.

When they pulled up in Hogsmeade station it was dark except for flashes of lightning. Hermione sheltered Crookshanks in her cloak. Ron kept his dress robes over Pig’s cage.

“Remind me to buy an umbrella!” Chrys shouted over the rain as her hair stuck to her face and her glasses blurred.

“Hi, Hagrid!” Harry called out. Chrys turned to see a large blur on the other end of the platform.

“Alrigh’, Harry?” Hagrid called back. “See yeh at the feast if we don’t drown!”

“Ooh!” Hermione said, watching a trail of first years follow him to the boats. “I wouldn’t fancy crossing the lake in this weather.”

“Must be a safety hazard,” Chrys thought as they moved towards the path in the woods, where many horseless carriages were waiting for the older students.

“It’s tradition,” Hermione said.

“And besides, when has Hogwarts been _safe_?” Harry said, laughing.

“…You’ve got a point there,” Chrys admitted.


	10. Of Thunder and The Triwizard Tournament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the reviews and kudos! You guys are awesome!

Lightning crashed behind them as they hurried through the castle doors.

“Blimey,” Ron said, shaking his head like a dog.

“Ron!” Chrys grumbled as drops of water pelted her. “I’m wet enough already."

“Tell me about it.” He grimaced. “If that keeps up the lake’s going to overflow. And then—argh!” A wobbly red sphere hit Ron on the head and exploded. It was a water balloon, and now he was even more drenched. Disoriented, Ron stumbled against Chrys, who slipped on the wet floor and landed with a smack. Another water balloon soared over her head. It broke behind her at Harry’s feet. People around them shouted and pushed each other as they scrambled, trying to get out of the line of fire.

Hermione helped Chrys to her feet, and they looked up to see their attacker—it was Peeves the Poltergeist, grinning maniacally as he took aim again.

“Peeves!” Professor McGonagall roared. “Peeves, come down here at _once!”_ She slipped on the wet floor as Chrys had, and grabbed Hermione around the neck to support herself. Hermione choked. “Ouch—sorry, Miss Granger.” Professor McGonagall let go and straightened up.

“That’s all right, Professor!” Hermione gasped, massaging her throat.

“Peeves, get down here _now_!” Professor McGonagall continued.

“Not doing nothing!” Peeves replied, throwing another balloon at a group of Ravenclaw girls. They squealed and ran into the Great Hall. “Already wet, aren’t they? Little squirts! Whee!” He aimed another balloon at a group of students just as they stepped into the castle.

“I shall call the headmaster!” Professor McGonagall threatened. “I’m warning you, Peeves—” Peeves stuck his tongue out at her, tossed one last balloon, and then swooped up the stairs, cackling like a stereotypical witch depicted in muggle culture.

“Well, move along, then!” Professor McGonagall barked at the students. “Into the Great Hall, come on!”

The four of them sat at the Gryffindor table.

“Ah…” Chrys said, enjoying the warmth of the floating candles above their heads.

“Good evening,” Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, greeted them.

“Says who?” Harry grunted. He took his trainers off and dumped water out of them. “Hope they hurry up with the Sorting. I’m starving.”

“You know…” Chrys said thoughtfully. “We haven’t been to a Sorting since our own. Might be interesting.” Harry perked up a bit, looking towards the dais at the end of the hall.

“Hiya, Chrys!” Colin Creevy squeaked out from further down the Gryffindor table. Chrys smiled and waved. “Hi, Harry!”

“Hi, Colin,” Harry said warily.

“Guess what? Guess what! My brother’s starting! My brother Dennis!”

“Er, good,” Harry said.

“He’s really excited!” Colin continued, bouncing in his seat. “I just hope he’s in Gryffindor—I mean, both of you got in, right? And all the Weasleys… Keep your fingers crossed, eh?”

“Yep!” Chrys crossed her fingers and held them up for him to see.

“Er—yeah, all right,” Harry said awkwardly.

Colin beamed and turned to his friend to keep chattering.

“Brothers and sisters usually go in the same Houses, don’t they?” Harry asked Nick.

“Well, Pavarti’s in Gryffindor while Padma’s in Ravenclaw,” Chrys pointed out.

Hermione nodded. “And they’re identical. You’d think they’d be together, wouldn’t you?”

“Their appearance has nothing to do with their personalities, Hermione,” Chrys said gently.

“Hmmm. I suppose not,” she agreed. Harry looked back up at the staff table. There were three empty chairs—one must be Hagrid’s, as he was taking the first years across the lake. The other must be McGonagall’s as she supervised the drying of the Entrance Hall. And the third…“Where’s the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?” Hermione frowned. “Maybe they couldn’t get anyone!” Harry continued staring up at the table.

“Oh hurry up,” Ron groaned. “I could eat a hippogriff.” Chrys frowned, thinking of the hippogriff Buckbeak, who was presumably still with Sirius on the run. Ron spotted her expression. “It’s only an expression.”

The Great Hall doors opened, and Professor McGonagall led in the first years. If Chrys thought she had been soaked, it was nothing compared to them. They were all shivering as they came up to the staff table, except for the smallest one, who had Hagrid’s moleskin coat wrapped around him. The boy caught Colin’s eye and gave him a double thumbs up.

“I fell in the lake!” He mouthed, looking delighted.

Professor McGonagall placed a stool in front of the staff table, and then placed the Sorting Hat on the stool. Everyone stared at the Hat.

The rip near the brim opened, and the Hat began to sing. It sang of the founders of Hogwarts, for which the houses were named, and how they had created the Sorting Hat in order to sort their students.

Everyone applauded.

“That’s not the song it sang when it sorted us,” Harry thought.

“Sings a different one every year,” Ron told him. “It’s got to be a pretty boring life, hasn’t it, being a hat? I suppose it spends all year making up the next one.”

Professor McGonagall unrolled a long scroll of parchment.

“When I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool,” she told the first years. “When the Hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table.”

And the sorting began. The first student was sorted into Ravenclaw. Harry’s eyes followed him to the table, spotting Cho Chang cheering him on. Harry’s stare intensified. Chrys laughed quietly. Harry stiffened and looked at her, as if worried about what she might say. She shrugged. Harry let out a breath.

The sorting continued. Dennis Creevey was placed in Gryffindor, and immediately ran to his brother. “Colin, I fell in!” He told him excitedly, as Colin’s friend budged over to let them sit next to each other. “It was brilliant! And something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back in the boat!”

“Cool!” Colin said in the same tone. “It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!”

“Wow!”

Chrys laughed again. Colin’s head shot up, and he caught Chrys’ eye.

“Dennis! Dennis! That’s Chrys—the girl with the glasses—” Colin told him, pointing at her. “Chrysanthemum Potter, you know!” Chrys shot them a wink before she turned back to watch the rest of the sorting.

“Wish you wouldn’t encourage him,” Harry muttered.

“He’s adorable—well, now that he’s stopped taking pictures at inappropriate moments…”

“Oh hurry up,” Ron said, rubbing his stomach.

“Now, Ron, the Sorting’s much more important than food,” Nick said.

“Course it is, if you’re dead,” Ron snapped. Nick frowned at him.

“I do hope this year’s batch of Gryffindors are up to scratch. We don’t want to break our winning streak, do we?”

“Four years in a row _does_ sound nice,” Chrys agreed. The last student was sorted into Hufflepuff, and Professor McGonagall took away the Hat and stool.

“About time.” Ron grabbed his knife and fork and looked around at the empty golden plates expectantly. Chrys looked up as Professor Dumbledore stood.

“I have only two words to say to you…” His voice echoed through the hall. “ _Tuck in_.”

“Hear, hear!” Harry and Ron shouted as the dishes suddenly filled with a variety of delicious smelling foods. Nick watched sadly as they loaded up their plates. Ron muttered something unintelligible, grinning with his mouth full. Hermione made a face.

“You’re lucky there’s a feast at all tonight, you know,” Nick said. “There was trouble in the kitchens earlier.”

“Why? Wha’ happened?” Harry asked through a mouthful of steak.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Peeves, of course,” Nick told him, shaking his head. It wobbled dangerously. It was only connected to his head by a thin strip of transparent flesh and muscle, hence the name ‘Nearly Headless.’ “The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feast—well, it’s quite out of the question, you know what he’s like, utterly uncivilized, can’t see a plate of food without throwing it.”

“What a waste,” Chrys thought, knowing how it was to be hungry… and also, the food at Hogwarts was particularly delicious.

“We held a ghosts’ council,” Nick continued. “The Fat Friar—” The Hufflepuff ghost. “—Was all for giving him the chance—but most wisely, in my opinion, the Bloody Baron—” The Slytherin ghost, and also one of the few people Peeves actually listened to. “—Put his foot down.”

“Yeah, we thought Peeves seemed hacked off about something,” Ron grumbled.

“Really? Would he have acted any differently if he was in a _good_ mood?” Chrys wondered.

“Probably not.” Ron shrugged. “Bigger balloons, maybe—anyway, what did he do in the kitchens, Nick?”

“Oh the usual.” Nick shrugged too. “Wreaked havoc and mayhem—Pots and pans everywhere—Place swimming in soup. Terrified the house-elves out of their wits—”

Hermione knocked over her goblet with a clang. Pumpkin juice bled into the tablecloth, but Hermione wasn’t paying it any attention. She stared wide-eyed at Nick.

“There are house-elves _here_? Here at _Hogwarts_?”

“Certainly.” Nick blinked at her. “The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred.” Chrys hummed thoughtfully.

“I’ve never seen one!” Hermione said.

“Well, they hardly ever leave the kitchen by day, do they?” Nick said. “They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning… see to the fires and so on… I mean, you’re not supposed to see them, are you? That’s the mark of a good house-elf, isn’t it, that you don’t know it’s there?”

“Is it?” Chrys frowned, not liking the use of the word ‘it.’

Nick looked at her. “Well… it was, in my day… and I suppose things could have changed since then, but that is how they seem to like it here.”

“But—but, they do get _paid_ ,” Hermione said hopefully. “They get _holidays_ , don’t they? And—and sick leave, and pensions, and everything?”

Nick laughed so hard his head flopped off. Ron stopped eating for a moment, his nose wrinkling. Then he shrugged and continued.

Nick reattached his head. “Sick leave and pensions?” He repeated. “House-elves don’t want sick leave and pensions!” Hermione looked down at her plate and food. Slowly, she put down her knife and fork and pushed it away from her.

“Oh c’mon, ‘er-my-knee,” Ron said, spraying Harry with bits of Yorkshire pudding. Chrys handed Harry another napkin. “Oops, sorry—‘Arry—” Ron swallowed and turned back to Hermione. “You won’t get them sick leave by starving yourself!”

“Slave labor,” Hermione muttered under her breath. “That’s what made this dinner. _Slave labor.”_ Chrys frowned.

“Hermione… I agree that Crouch didn’t treat Winky well, and you’d be furious if you know how the Malfoys treated Dobby—though, not surprised, probably—but do you really think that _Dumbledore_ would enslave people?”

“Well, no…” Hermione’s brow furrowed. “But if he isn’t paying them…” Chrys nodded slowly.

“Right... All right, look, why don’t we try and find out more information on the Hogwarts house-elves, and house-elves in general before we jump to any conclusions?” She suggested. “Maybe they have something in the library.” Hermione smiled slightly.

“Thanks, Chrys. That’s a good idea.”

“Good,” Ron said. “Now, eat something.”

“No.” Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. “Not until I know more.”

Harry sighed.

When dinner disappeared and was replaced by dessert, Ron tried to convince Hermione to eat again, but she gave him a look so like Professor McGonagall’s that Chrys was certain she’d been practicing it in the mirror. Ron gave up.

When dessert was cleared, Dumbledore stood up again. The pleasant chatter in the Great Hall came to a pause as they focused on him. For a moment the only sound was the thunder and rain shaking the windows, while lightning flashed in the ceiling above them, which was enchanted to reflect the weather outside.

“So!” Dumbledore said, smiling at them. “Now that you are all fed and watered—”

“Hmph!” Hermione said.

“—I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.” First he gave them a few additions to Filch the grumpy caretaker’s list of banned objects. Chrys saw Fred and George looking at each other, probably trying to think if they’d brought any of those objects with them. She was pretty sure at least some of those objects had been banned _because_ of them. “The full list comprises of some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch’s office, if anybody would like to check it.” Dumbledore’s lips twitched. “As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year.” Hermione shot Chrys, who had sort of broken both of those rules, a look. Chrys shrugged, it had been for good reason. “It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.”

“What?” Harry gasped. He looked around at the fellow members of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Fred and George were speechless, for once.

“This is due to an event that will be starting in October,” Dumbledore continued. “—And will be continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers’ time and energy—but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely.” Chrys sat up straighter. “I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts—”

Dumbledore was cut off by a crash of thunder at the same time as the Great Hall doors banged opened. Chrys looked at the man leaning on a long staff in the doorway. The black hood that hid his face matched the drama of his entrance. Then he threw his hood back, revealing grizzled hair, and limped towards the staff table.

Hermione gasped as a flash of lightning shone on his face. His skin was weathered. A chunk of his nose was missing, and one of his eyes was huge, blue, and swiveling in all directions—even into the back of his head, so that all they could see was white.

When he reached Dumbledore, he held out his scarred hand. Dumbledore shook it, speaking quietly to him. The man shook his head, and Dumbledore nodded, motioning for him to sit at his right hand side. The man sat and pulled a plate of sausages towards him. He smelled it and then pulled a small knife out of his pocket and stabbed a sausage to eat it. Harry and Chrys exchanged a confused look.

“Who is this guy?” Chrys muttered.

“May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher,” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “Professor Moody.” Hogwarts got a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher every year. It was rumored the position was cursed. Anyway, the new teacher was usually met with polite applause from the students and other teachers. This year the hall was silent, except for Dumbledore and Hagrid.

“Moody?” Harry turned to Ron. “ _Mad-Eye Moody?_ The one your dad went to help this morning?”

“Must be,” Ron whispered, amazed.

“Mr. Diggory did say he was starting a new job today,” Chrys recalled.

“What happened to him?” Hermione wondered. “What happened to his _face_?”

“Now, Hermione,” Chrys said. “That isn’t very polite…” She was wondering the same thing.

“Dunno,” Ron said, still staring up at him. Moody pulled a flask out of his robes and drank.

“Look at his leg,” Harry muttered to Chrys. Under the staff table, Chrys saw a wooden leg and a clawed foot.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “As I was saying…” He smiled down at them. “… We are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triward Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.”

“You’re _joking_!” Fred cried out. Everyone laughed, including Dumbledore.

“What’s the Triwizard Tournament?” Chrys asked Hermione. Hermione opened her mouth.

“I am _not_ joking, Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore said. “Though, now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all walked into a bar…” Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. “Er—but maybe this is not the time… no… where was I?” Chrys grinned. “Ah, yes, the Triwizard Tournament… well, someone of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who _do_ know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely.”

Apparently the Triwizard Tournament was a competition created to encourage connections between the largest wizarding schools in Europe: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. Each school was represented by a champion to compete in three tasks. The schools used to take turns hosting the tournament once every five years, but then the death toll got too high—

“ _Death toll_?” Hermione whispered. Harry shrugged. Chrys rolled her eyes. How very like Harry to be unconcerned by a death toll… although, the rest of the students seemed to agree with him in this case—they were perfectly excited for the tournament to be brought back.

“There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament,” Dumbledore continued. “…None of them successful. However, our own departments of International Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt.”

"Oh, so that’s what Bagman meant by him and Crouch being extra busy this year, even after the World Cup," Chrys whispered to Harry. He nodded.

“We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger," Dumbledore said. Chrys eyed him dubiously. Hogwarts had plenty of mortal danger (Cerberus, basilisk, Voldemort in various forms) lying around, she didn’t see how this year would be any different. “The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween.” Halloween was always an eventful time of year, Chrys thought. “An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money.”

“I’m going for it!” Fred whispered excitedly to his friend Lee Jordan. Several students murmured excitedly to each other along the same lines.

They quieted as Dumbledore spoke again.

“Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts, the Ministry of Magic have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age—that is to say, seventeen years or older—will be allowed to put forward there names for consideration. This—”

Several students protested loudly, including Fred, "Oh, come on!"

Dumbledore raised his voice. “—Is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no under-age student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion.” He smiled down at Fred and George’s rebellious faces. “I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.” The students from the other schools would be staying for the rest of the year after they arrived in October, and Dumbledore expected the Hogwarts students to welcome them warmly. “And now, it is late, and I know how important it is for you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop, chop!”

He sat down and started to talk to Moody as the students emptied the hall.

“They can’t do that!” George protested, lingering at the table and glaring up at Dumbledore. “We’re seventeen in April, why can’t we have a shot?”

“Tough luck, you two.” Chrys said, patting him on the back. Fred raised an eyebrow at her.

“Don’t you know us at all, Chrys? They’re not stopping us from entering…” He glared up at the table as well. “The champions’ll get to do all sorts of stuff you’d never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!”

“Yeah,” Ron said dreamily. “Yeah, a thousand Galleons…”

“Come on,” Hermione said. “We’ll be the only ones left here if we don’t move.” The six of them headed for the doors.

“But how do you think he’ll do it?” Fred wondered. “Try and stop the under-seventeens from entering, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” Chrys said. “But if Dumbledore really sternly tells you not to do something, there are few people who wouldn’t listen—are you one of those foolish people, Fred?”

He considered, and then shrugged. “Yeah, probably…”

“And who’s this impartial judge who’s going to decide who the champions are?” Harry wondered. Chrys hummed.

“Not Dumbledore. People would complain about favoritism.”

“Yeah…” Ron said, shooting Harry a look. Harry frowned.

“Whoever it is—It’s them we’ll have to fool,” Fred figured. “I reckon a couple of drops of Aging Potion might do it, George…”

“Dumbledore knows you’re not of age, though,” Ron said.

“Yeah, but like Chrys said, he can’t be the one who decides who the champion is, right?” Fred said. “Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he’ll choose the best from each school, never mind how old they are. Dumbledore’s trying to stop us giving our names.”

“People have died, though!” Hermione said worriedly as they passed through a short cut to Gryffindor Tower behind a tapestry. Chrys held it open for Neville as he ran to catch up with them.

“Yeah,” Fred said, unconcerned. “But that was years ago, wasn’t it? Anyway, where’s the fun without a bit of risk? Hey, Ron…” Fred turned to him. “What if we find out how to get ‘round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?”

“What d’you reckon?” Ron asked Harry. “Be cool to enter, wouldn’t it? But I s’pose they might want someone older… dunno if we’ve learned enough…”

“I definitely haven’t,” Neville put in gloomily. “I expect my gran’d want me to try, though. She’s always going on about how I should be upholding the family honor.” Chrys frowned. “I’ll just have to—oops…” He had stepped in a trick stair. Harry and Ron seized him by the armpits and pulled him out. A suit of armor near the top of the stairs laughed, his helmet clinking.

“Shut it, you,” Ron said, slamming down his visor as they passed.

They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, who guarded the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.

“Password?” She asked.

“No idea.” Chrys looked around at the others.

“Balderdash,” George said. The portrait swung open. “A prefect downstairs told me.”

They stepped inside. There was a warm fire in the hearth. Hermione frowned at it.

“Slave labor,” she muttered. “Come on, Chrys, let’s go to bed.”

“Er—okay,” Chrys said, waving goodbye to the rest of them as Hermione dragged her towards the stairs. Fred chuckled.

Hermione hissed at the warming pans that had been placed between the sheets.

“What’s up with her?” Lavender Brown, one of their dorm mates asked as Hermione tried to remove the pan and ended up burning her hands.

“Long story,” Chrys said, as she and Parvati (their other dorm mate, and Padma’s twin sister), looked over Hermione’s hands.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Hermione said, shooing them away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, if anybody has a better idea for a chapter title, let me know.


	11. Of Books and Burns

Tomorrow at breakfast they received their course schedules.

“Today’s not bad…” Ron said, skimming his. “Outside all morning. Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, and Care of Magical Creatures… Damn it, we’re still with the Slytherins.”

“Look at it this way,” Chrys said. “At least we can keep an eye on Malfoy if he tries anything with Hagrid again.”

“Fat lot of good we did last time,” Harry thought. Last year Malfoy had nearly gotten Hagrid sacked, and nearly gotten Buckbeak the hippogriff executed.

“You would say that, my little ray of sunshine,” Chrys said, ruffling his hair.

He swatted her off and groaned. “Double Divination this afternoon.”

“You should have given it up like me, shouldn’t you?” Hermione said superiorly.

“Wish I’d given up Ancient Runes,” Chrys muttered. “Why does it have to be later in the day? I’ll end up falling asleep in class. Professor Babbling’s voice is just _so_ soothing…”

“You need to try harder to stay awake, Chrys. We have O.W.Ls next year,” Hermione said, spreading jam on her toast.

“You’re eating again, I notice,” Ron said.

“I’ve decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights,” Hermione huffed.

“Yeah…” Ron grinned. “And you were hungry.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but was interrupted by the flutter of wings as many owls soared in through the high windows to deliver the morning post.

Harry glanced around.

“Still no Hedwig,” Chrys noted sadly.

“You don’t think something happened to her, do you?” Harry whispered.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Chrys said, spooning some honey onto her oatmeal.

After breakfast they headed down to Greenhouse Three. Chrys moved down the table to sit with her group, Neville, Seamus, and Dean. Professor Sprout greeted them all for the first lesson of the year, and then heaved a large pot onto the front table. There were thick, black things sticking out of the soil. They squirmed like worms, and appeared to be covered in large pus-filled boils. Seamus and Dean exchanged a grossed out look, but Neville’s eyes widened in delight. Chrys tugged on his sleeve.

“Neville, what are those things?”

He shushed her. In any other circumstance, Neville would never shush anybody, even if he wanted to he would normally be too shy, but Herbology was a special case for him.

“Bubotubers,” Professor Sprout announced. “They need squeezing. You will collect the pus—”

“The _what_?” Seamus interrupted, even more disgusted than before.

“Pus,” Professor Sprout repeated. “Pus, Finnigan, pus. And it’s extremely valuable, so don’t waste it. You will collect the pus, I say, in these bottles.” She held one of them up. “Wear your dragon-hide gloves—it can do funny things to the skin when undiluted, bubotuber pus.”

“She’s not kidding,” Neville muttered. He smiled. “But it really is very useful stuff—it can be used for all sorts of—”

“No offense, Neville,” Seamus said. “But I don’t really care.”

“Then let’s get to it,” Dean said, pulling on his gloves.

So they squeezed the smelly yellow pus into the bottles.

“This’ll keep Madam Pomfrey happy,” Professor Sprout thought, looking over their collection. She stoppered up the last bottle. “An excellent remedy for the more stubborn forms of acne, bubotuber pus.” Seamus scratched his face thoughtfully. “Should stop students resorting to desperate measures to rid themselves of pimples.”

“Like poor Eloise Midgen,” Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuff whispered. “She tried to curse hers off.”

“Silly girl.” Professor Sprout shook her head. “But Madam Pomfrey fixed her nose back on in the end.”

The bell sounded from the castle. The Gryffindors headed down to Hagrid’s hut. He was holding his dog Fang by the collar. Fang was whining and pulling against him, eager to investigate several wooden crates nearby. The crates were rattling ominously. As they got closer, something inside the crates let out a bang. Several of the students jumped and paused halfway down the hill. But Harry moved forward determinedly, so Chrys, Ron, and Hermione followed.

“Mornin’!” Hagrid called out to them.

“Morning!” Chrys smiled and waved. “Going to show us what’s in those crates, Hagrid?”

“Be’er wait fer the Slytherins,” Hagrid figured. “They won’ want ter miss this—Blast-Ended Skrewts!” Lavender crept forward, curious.

“Come again?” Ron asked. Hagrid pointed at the crates. They looked closer through holes in the crates. The Blast-Ended Skrewts were like mutant lobsters—they were horribly pale and had no shells, or heads. There were about a hundred per crate, scuttling around and occasionally farting sparks so hard they were thrown backwards into each other.

And they smelled like rotting fish.

“Ugh!” Lavender said, jumping back.

Harry looked like he agreed with her, but he held his position.

“On’y just hatched,” Hagrid told them proudly. “So yeh’ll be able ter raise ‘em for yerselves! Thought we’d make a bit of project of it!”

“And why would we _want_ to raise them?” Malfoy asked coldly. The Slytherins had arrived. Crabbe and Goyle laughed. Hagrid looked at him confusedly.

“Um, maybe because your teacher told you to?” Chrys said. Hagrid smiled gratefully at her.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, like you do everything, ‘teachers’ tell you to,” he said, giving Hagrid a long look at the word ‘teachers.’ Hagrid flushed slightly. Malfoy pointed at the crates. “What do they _do_? What is the _point_ of them?” Chrys really didn’t want to say he had a point.

Anyway, maybe they would turn out to be useful, like the Bubotubers.

Hagrid considered his questions.

“Tha’s next lesson, Malfoy,” he decided. “Yer jus’ feedin’ ‘em today. Now, yeh’ll wan’ ter try ‘em on a few diff’rent things—I’ve never had ‘em before, not sure what they’ll go fer—I got ant eggs an’ frogs livers an’ a bit o’grass snake—just try ‘em out with a bit of each.”

“First pus and now this,” Seamus grumbled. Dean patted him on the back.

“Keep it together, mate.”

Chrys pulled her dragon-hide gloves back on, and scooped up a handful of squishy frog liver. She lowered it into the crate and quickly moved her hand back up as one of the Skrewts started smoking. They did not seem to be eating.

“Malfoy might have a point, for once,” Harry muttered. “What’s the point of trying to feed them if they don’t even have _mouths_?”

“They’ve got to… somewhere,” Hermione thought.

“Ouch!” Dean shouted. They looked over worried. “It got me!” Hagrid hurried over to him. “Its end exploded!” Dean showed him a shiny burn on his hand.

“Ah, yeah… that can happened when they blast off.” Hagrid nodded wisely.

“Hold on,” Parvati said. She shuffled through her bag. “I have some lotion I meant to give Hermione…” Ron frowned and looked at Hermione.

“What, you got burned too?”

“Oh… it’s not too bad…”

“Let me see,” Ron insisted.

“No, it’s fine, it was only last night on the…” Hermione flushed. Chrys smirked, thinking of her battle with the bed warmer. Parvati gave Dean the lotion as he grumbled.

“Keep it together, mate,” Seamus said mockingly, once he was sure Dean was going to be all right. Dean glared at him.

“Ugh!” Lavender said again. “Ugh, Hagrid, what’s that pointy thing on it?”

“Ah, some of ‘em have got stings,” Hagrid said excitedly. Lavender quickly drew her hand back. “I reckon they’re the males… the females’ve got sorta sucker things on their bellies… I think they might be ter suck blood.”

“Well, I can certainly see why we’re trying to keep them alive,” Malfoy said sarcastically. “Who wouldn’t want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?”

“Just because they’re not very pretty, it doesn’t mean they’re not useful,” Hermione snapped. Chrys nodded. “Dragon blood’s amazingly magical, but you wouldn’t want a dragon for a pet, would you?”

“Well, I mean—” Chrys started to say. Hermione elbowed her side. “Er—certainly not.”

Harry and Ron grinned at Hagrid, who smiled back sheepishly. He and Chrys would both love to have a dragon as a pet. Hagrid had actually came close in her first year, but he’d had to send it to Charlie in the Dragon Reserve where he worked in Romania. Hagrid had named the baby dragon ‘Norbert,’ but when Chrys asked after him, Charlie had laughed and told her ‘Norberta’ was doing well. The females were more vicious, apparently.

And dragons weren’t the only dangerous creatures Hagrid had a fondness for—he’d cared for Cerberus named Fluffy, for one. Too bad Fluffy had to be sent back to Greece after Chrys’ first year.

But, still, giant three-headed dogs and baby dragons seemed a lot more fun than these Blast-Ended Skrewts.

“Well, at least the skrewts are small,” Ron thought as they walked back up to the castle for lunch. Hermione sighed.

“They are _now_ … but once Hagrid’s found out what they eat, I expect they’ll be six feet long.”

“How do you figure?” Chrys wondered.

“Because anything smaller would be too lucky for us,” Hermione reasoned grimly.

“Well, that won’t matter if they turn out to cure seasickness or something, will it?” Ron said, grinning slyly at her. She shot him a look.

“You know perfectly well I only said that to shut Malfoy up. As a matter of fact, I think he’s right. The best thing to do would be to stamp on the lot of them before they start attacking us all.”

As soon as they sat at the Gryffindor table, Hermione started shoveling potatoes into her mouth at top-speed. The other three stared at her.

“Er—is this a new stand on elf rights?” Ron wondered. “You’re going to make yourself puke instead?”

“No,” Hermione said, mouth full of sprouts now. She swallowed. “I just want to get to the library.” She looked at Chrys. “And you promised to come with me!”

“Oh.” Chrys sighed. “Yeah, I did.” She shoveled potatoes in her mouth as well. Harry and Ron looked at each other in confusion.

“Hermione… it’s the first day back!” Ron said. “We haven’t even got homework yet!”

Hermione shrugged and leapt to her feet. “Come on, Chrys!”

“Coming, coming,” Chrys said, gulping down some pumpkin juice.

In the library Chrys and Hermione collected as many books on house-elves, 'non-human' rights, and wizarding labor laws that they could find.

Hermione divided them between their bags.

Then she headed off to Arithmancy, and Chrys went to Double Divination. The sweet smell of incense hit her as soon as she came out of the trap door into the attic-like classroom. The curtains were closed, all the lanterns were covered in scarves, and fire was stoked high in the hearth. Chrys looked around the room as she pulled at her collar. Harry and Ron sitting at a low table towards the back. She made her way over to them.

“…What.” Ron stared blankly at her bulging bag as she sat on a cushion next to him.

“Don’t ask,” Chrys said. She heard something jingling behind them. “Hello, Professor.” They turned to see Professor Trelawney attempting to sneak up on them. Her many bangles and chains jingled as she moved, and glittered in the firelight. Disappointment flickered over her face, but she quickly recovered the expression of pity she usually wore when she looked at Harry and Chrys.

“Good day, Miss Potter,” she replied.

“Yeah, excellent,” Chrys said dully.

Professor Trelawney stared out of the thick-glasses that magnified her eyes ten-fold.

“You are preoccupied, my dear. My inner eye sees past your brave face to the troubled soul within. And I regret to say that your worries are not baseless. I see difficult times ahead for you, alas… most difficult… I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass… and perhaps sooner than you think…”

Chrys sighed. “Really? Well, thanks for the warning.”

Trelawney seemed a bit turned off by her lack of despair, and moved over to Lavender and Parvati, who were usually more receptive of her ‘inner eye.’

Ron rolled his eyes. Harry frowned.

“My dears,” Trelawney said to the room. “It is time for us to consider the stars. The movements of the planet and the mysterious portents they reveal only to those who understand the steps of the celestial dance. Human destiny may be deciphered by the planetary rays, which intermingle…” Harry’s eyes glazed over. Chrys wondered what he was thinking about. “…And create the aspects of our character. For example—” She turned to Chrys and Harry. “My dear, you and your brother were clearly born under the baleful influence of Saturn.”

“Er… Saturn…” Chrys tried to remember the movements of the planets, which they’d learned a bit about in astrology over the years. “Saturn…” She looked at Ron. He shrugged. She looked at Harry, but he was leaning his head on his hand, his glasses somewhat fogged up by the heat. “Sorry, Professor, what does that mean, exactly?”

Trelawney frowned in annoyance. “The position of Saturn was surely in a position of power in the heavens at the moment of your birth… dark hair…”

“Mine’s sort of a medium brown, actually,” Chrys thought. Lavender and Dean nodded.

Professor Trelawney ignored them. “…Your mean stature,” she continued. Ron grinned. Okay, so Chrys was small, she knew that. “…Tragic losses so young in life… I think I am right in saying, my dear, that you were born in midwinter?”

Chrys’ lips twitched. “No. We were born in July.”

Ron hastily covered his laugh up with a coughing fit. This startled Harry awake. He looked around at them confusedly.

“I can handle it when she starts in on me,” Harry said as they looked over the complicated celestial charts they’d been given. “But I wish she’d leave you out of it.”

Chrys shrugged. “She’s easier to deal with than Snape.”

“True.” Harry nodded. His brow furrowed as he studied his chart. “Hang on—I’ve got two Neptunes here… that can’t be right, can it?”

“Ah…” Ron said, imitating Trelawney’s mystic tone. “…When two Neptunes appear in the sky, it is a sure sign that two midgets in glasses are being born.” Harry and Chrys looked at him blankly. Seamus and Dean, at the table next to them, sniggered.

Luckily, their laughter was covered up by Lavender suddenly squealing excitedly.

“Oh Professor, look! I think I’ve got an unaspected planet! Ooh, which one’s that, Professor?”

“It is Uranus, my dear,” Professor Trelawney said, leaning over to get a look at it.

“Can I have a look at Uranus too, Lavender?” Ron said. Chrys suppressed a laugh and elbowed him, for Lavender’s sake. Unfortunately, Professor Trelawney must have heard him, because immediately after that she assigned them the most homework they had ever received from her.

Ron was still complaining about it after Chrys got finished with Transfiguration and Ancient Runes.

“Miserable old bat,” Ron grumbled as they climbed down the stairs. “That’ll take all weekend, that will…”

“Lots of homework?” Hermione asked, smilingly as she caught up with them. “Professor Vector didn’t give _us_ any at all! And—”

“Well, bully for Professor Vector,” Ron grunted.

“You can have mine, if you want,” Chrys offered Hermione.

“No thanks. I’d like to use the time for other things…” She gave Chrys a meaningful look. Chrys groaned. Harry looked between them, curious.

As they joined the queue to get into the Great Hall for dinner Malfoy called out, “Weasley! Hey, Weasley!”

They turned. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were smiling suspiciously.

“What?” Ron said.

“Your dad’s in the paper, Weasley!” Malfoy held up a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. Chrys felt her stomach sink. “Listen to this!” He cleared his throat and opened the paper. “ _Further Mistakes At the Ministry of Magic: It seems as though the Ministry of Magic’s troubles are not yet at an end, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent._ ” Chrys frowned deeply. That Skeeter woman again? “ _Recently under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.”_ Malfoy looked up. “Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley. It’s almost as though he’s a complete nonentity, isn’t it?”

"You—" Ron started, but Chrys stepped on his foot. Ron turned and frowned at her.

"Where was I...?" Malfoy smirked as the entire queue had turned to listen to him. He straightened out the paper. Ron tensed. Chrys rested her hand on his arm. "Arnold Weasley, who was charged with the possession of a flying car two years ago..." Chrys flinched. It had been partially her, Harry, and Ron's fault that the Ministry had learned about Mr. Weasley's flying car. Malfoy read on about Mr. Weasley helping out Moody, neither of whom were painted in a very flattering light. "And there’s a picture, Weasley!” Malfoy turned the paper over and pointed. “A picture of your parents outside their house—if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn’t she?”

Everyone turned from Malfoy to Ron.

He was shaking. Chrys tightened her grip on him.

“Get stuffed, Malfoy,” Harry said in a tone of forced calm. “C’mon, Ron…”

“Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren’t you, Potter?” Malfoy sneered. “So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?”

Chrys let go of Ron, her jaw clenching. Hermione quickly grabbed him by the back of his robes before he could launch himself at Malfoy.

Chrys started forward. “You—”

Harry grabbed her arm. “—You know _your_ mother, Malfoy? That expression she’s got, like she’s got dung under her nose… has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?”

Malfoy flushed. “Don’t you dare insult my mother, Potter.”

“Keep your fat mouth shut, then.” Harry turned away from. Chrys saw Malfoy pull out his wand. She pulled Harry to the side. A hot white light grazed her cheek. Several people screamed—Harry pulled out his wand.

“Oh no you don’t, laddie!” Moody shouted. He was limping down the stairs towards them with his wand out. His wand was pointed at the white ferret that was sitting, shaking where Malfoy had been standing a minute ago. Chrys stared. The hall was silent except for the thump of Moody’s leg as he came to stand in front of the twins. “Did he get you?”

Harry frowned. “Not me…” He touched his sister’s cheek and she hissed.

Moody studied her. “Burn jinx. Good thing you didn’t get the brunt of it. It’ll be fine,” he said. “Leave it!” Harry hastily withdrew from Chrys. “Not you—him!” Moody jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Crabbe was bent over, just about to pick up the ferret. Moody’s swiveling eye was pointed in the back of his head—and apparently could see through it! Moody advanced on them, and the ferret squeaked, making a run for it. “I don’t think so!” Moody pointed his wand and the ferret bounced up into the air, and then crashed back onto the ground with a smack. Chrys winced. Moody growled. “I don’t like people who attack when their opponent’s back is turned.” He bounced the ferret up and down again. “Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do…” The ferret paused in mid-air, squirming as it tried to get free. Chrys frowned.

“Professor—”

He ignored her. “Never—do—that—again!” He smacked the ferret against the ground with every word.

“Professor Moody!” Professor McGonagall said from the top of the stairs.

“Hello, Professor McGonagall,” Moody said calmly, still bouncing the ferret.

“What—” Professor McGonagall’s eyes followed the ferret. “What are you doing?”

“Teaching,” Moody said.

“Teach—” Her eyes widened. “Moody, _is that a student?_ ”

“Yep.”

“No!” Professor McGonagall dropped the stack of books she was holding and ran down the stairs. She pulled out her wand, and with a pop, Malfoy appeared on the floor. His normally neatly sleeked back hair was a mess, and his face was as red as Ron’s hair. He stood slowly, wincing. “Moody, we _never_ use Transfiguration as a punishment!” The normally unshakable Professor McGonagall looked like she might collapse. “Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?” Chrys raised an eyebrow. Why did a teacher need to be told something like that?

“He might’ve mentioned it, yeah.” Moody scratched his chin. “But I thought a good sharp shock—”

“We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender’s Head of House!”

“I’ll do that, then.” He eyed Malfoy distastefully.

“My father…” Malfoy muttered under his breath.

“Oh yeah?” Moody limped closer to him. Malfoy flinched. Chrys frowned. “Well, I know your father of old, boy… you tell him Moody’s keeping a close eye on his son… you tell him that from me… now, your Head of House’ll be Snape, will it?

“Yes,” Malfoy said stiffly.

“Another old friend,” Moody growled. “I’ve been looking forward to a chat with old Snape… come on, you…” He seized Malfoy by the arm and started marching him to the dungeons.

Professor McGonagall stared after him for a moment, and then waved her wand, collecting her books again.

“Oh, stop,” Chrys said, pushing away Harry and Hermione’s concern as they sat at the table. She poked at the sore spot on her face, and it barely twinged. “It’s not bad at all.”

“Well, at least get some of Parvati’s lotion,” Hermione insisted. Chrys shrugged.

“What about you, Ron?” She asked, frowning at him. “How are you doing?”

“Don’t talk to me,” Ron said quietly. Hermione blinked.

“Why not?”

“Because I want to fix that in my memory forever,” Ron said. He closed his eyes with a dreamy expression on his face. “Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret…”

Harry and Hermione laughed, but Chrys was still frowning.

“Moody could’ve done without the bouncing bit.”

Now Harry and Hermione were frowning too.

“Don’t you dare defend him!” Harry said angrily. “He hurt you!”

“Barely—and honestly, I think the whole ferret thing was hilarious, and I was totally ready to hit him myself, but teachers shouldn’t hurt students, no matter what shape they’re in.”

The others considered this.

“You could be right…” Hermione scooped casserole onto their plates. “He could have really hurt Malfoy. It was good, really, that Professor McGonagall stopped it—”

Ron groaned. “Chrys! Hermione! You’re ruining the best moment of my life!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’ll have better moments,” Chrys thought. Hermione started eating at top-speed again.

“Don’t tell me you’re going back to the library this evening?” Harry said, watching her.

“Got to,” Hermione said, her voice muffled by food. “Loads to do.”

“But you told us Professor Vector—” Ron started.

“It’s not schoolwork,” she said. She looked at Chrys. “Are you coming, or what?”

“Coming.” Chrys chewed her casserole faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, I would've posted this several hours ago, but I got distracted by going over the timetable I created for Harry. I've probably given him way too many hours of school, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	12. Of H.E.R.S. and Helping Hands

Monday morning Neville melted his sixth cauldron in four years of potions. Chrys waited for him outside class as Snape held him back to assign him detention.

“How is it?” She asked as he stepped out into the corridor. He groaned. “That bad, huh?”

“I have to disembowel a barrel full of horned toads!” He told her. “Barehanded!”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “That can’t be legal,” she thought. Neville shrugged. “Well, strangely enough, Neville, I do know a good spell for removing frog guts from underneath your fingernails.”

“You’d better teach it to me now, then,” he said miserably. They started down the corridor as Hermione went over the incantation.

Chrys shook her head, waiting until they got out of earshot to say, “Snape’s always been so ready to jump on Neville for the smallest mistakes… but he's been even more of a bully recently."

“Yeah, well, you know why, don’t you?” Ron said, looking at Harry meaningfully.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Moody.”

“Huh?” Chrys said. “You mean, cause Moody has the job Snape’s always wanted?” Snape became more and more moody every year as he was continuously passed over for the Defense position.

“Yeah, well, there’s that,” Harry agreed. “Also… I don’t know, it’s strange… Snape almost seems _afraid_ of him.”

“Imagine if Moody turned Snape into a horned toad,” Ron said, voice full of emotion. “…And bounced him all around his dungeon…”

Harry glanced at his watch. “Hey, let’s get a move on, I want to get to Defense early.”

They caught up with Hermione and Neville. Hermione was also looking at her watch.

She sighed. “No time to go to the library this morning.”

“Not like you spent the entire weekend in there or anything,” Harry said sarcastically. “C’mon, quick—or we won’t get decent seats.”

They sped up, but most of the class seemed to have had the same idea as Harry, because there was already a queue in front of the classroom. Ron groaned. Still, they managed to snag two seats in the front row. Hermione immediately took one of the seats, while Ron took a seat behind her. Harry and Chrys rock-paper-scissored for the seat next to Hermione. Chrys grinned as she won. Harry sighed and took his seat next to Ron.

"Weird," Ron commented. "We do stone-cloak-wand."

"Hmmm," Hermione said as she neatly lined up her copy of _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ with the edge of her desk. "Interesting. I wonder why. It's not as if you don't have scissors."

"Well, yeah, but you can just as easily do a severing charm, can't you?" Ron thought. Harry glanced at the door.

"He should be here any minute now."

The room went unusually quiet as they waited for Moody to arrive.

They heard his clunking footsteps clearly down the hall.

“You can put those away,” he growled, sitting at his desk. “Those books, you won’t need them.” Hermione frowned, but Ron made a noise of excitement. Moody started by taking attendance. His normal eye kept glued to the class list, but his magical eye swerved to look at the students as he called their names. “Weasley, Ronald."

"Present," Ron said, much more eagerly than he normally would have.

Right then.” Moody put down his list. “I’ve had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you’ve had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures—” Chrys smiled. “—You’ve covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, kappas, and werewolves, is that right?” The students nodded. “But you’re behind—very behind—on dealing with curses. So I’m here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I’ve got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark—”

“What, aren’t you staying?” Ron asked suddenly. Moody’s magic eye came to rest on him. Ron stiffened. Then Moody smiled. With how heavily his face was scarred, it was a very twisted smile, but Ron looked relieved nevertheless.

“You’ll be Arthur Weasley’s son, eh?” Moody said.

"Er, yeah," Ron said.

Moody nodded. “Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago… Yeah, I’m staying just the one year. Special favor to Dumbledore… one year, then back to my quiet retirement...” He laughed roughly. “So—” He clapped his hands together. “—Straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I’m supposed to teach you the countercurses and leave it at that. I’m not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you’re in the sixth year. You’re not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore’s got a higher opinion of your nerves…” Hermione sat up a bit straighter. “He reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you’re up against the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you’ve never seen?”

Chrys tilted her head thoughtfully. "Theory versus practical application..." Hermione muttered under her breath.

“A wizard who’s about to put an illegal curse on your isn’t going to tell you what he’s about to do," Moody continued. "He’s not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I’m talking.” Chrys turned around to see a blushing Lavender stuffing her Divination homework into her bag. “So… do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding laws?” He looked around at their raised hands, and pointed at Ron, though his magical eye was still on Lavender.

“Er…” Ron hesitated. “…My dad told me about one… is it called the Imperius Curse, or something.”

“Ah, yes.” Moody nodded. “Your father _would_ know about that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse.” He got up slowly, and opened his desk drawer. He took out a glass jar with three large spiders in it. Ron flinched. Moody grabbed one of the spiders out and held it up on his palm. He pointed his wand. “ _Imperio!”_ The spider jumped from his hand, swinging on a strand of silk. It did a backflip onto the desk, and then began running in circles. Moody moved his wand and it rose onto two legs and… began to tap dance. The class laughed. Moody growled. “Think it’s funny, do you? You’d like it, would you, if I did it to you?” The room went silent. Moody’s voice lowered. “Total control.” The spider curled up into a ball and started rolling around. “I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats…” Ron shuddered. “Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse. Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will…” Chrys raised her hand. Moody’s eye—both of his eyes, slid over to her. “Yes, Miss Potter?”

“Can… can it be countered, the Imperius Curse?” She asked quietly. The class waited on bated breath. 

“…It can be fought,” Moody said. “And I’ll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone’s got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. _Constant Vigilance_!” He said the last part so loudly many of the students jumped. Moody picked up the rolling spider and put it back in the jar. “Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?” His eyes drifted to Neville. Several people looked surprised to see his hand raised, including Neville himself. “Yes?”

“There’s one—the Cruciatus Curse,” Neville said in a faraway sort of voice.

Moody studied him for a moment. “Your name’s Longbottom?” He asked, checking the register again. Neville nodded nervously. Moody pulled out a second spider and placed it on his desk. Chrys wondered why it didn’t run. “The Cruciatus Curse… needs to be a little bigger, for you to get the idea.” He pointed his wand at the spider. “ _Engorgio_!” Ron scooted his chair as far from the swiftly growing spider as he could get. Then Moody raised his wand again. “ _Crucio!”_ The spider’s legs jerked out. It flailed more and more violently—

“Stop it!” Hermione cried. Chrys looked at her, and then followed her gaze to Neville. Neville was clenching his desk so tightly his knuckles had gone white. Moody moved his wand. The spider stopped struggling, but its legs still twitched intermittently.

 _“Reducio_.” The spider shrank and he put it back in the jar. “Pain. You don’t need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse… that one was very popular once too.” Chrys shuddered. “Right… anyone know any others?” No one moved for a moment, and then Hermione raised her hand. “Yes?”

“Avada Kedavra,” Hermione whispered. Several people looked at her uncomfortably. Ron glanced at Harry for some reason.

“Ah.” Moody smiled another sideways smile. “Yes, the last and worse, Avada Kedavra… the Killing Curse.” He reached into the jar. The third spider tried to avoid him, but Moody caught him and put him on the desk. It started to run, but Moody was too quick—“ _Avada Kedavra!_ ” There was a sickeningly familiar flash of green light. Several people gasped. The spider was knocked back and skidded across the floor close to Ron, who leaned so far back he almost fell over. The spider was motionless. Chrys stood up suddenly, her chair screeching against the ground. Everyone turned to look at her. Her head spun. “Not nice,” Moody said calmly. “Not pleasant. And there’s no countercurse. There’s no blocking it. Only two people have ever survived it, and here they are in front of me…” Moody’s magic eye moved back and forth between Harry and Chrys. Harry flushed. Slowly, he turned to Chrys. Their eyes met and Chrys nodded slightly. It was all right. They were alive. It was fine. She let out a breath and sat back down.

“Sorry,” Hermione mouthed. Chrys shook her head.

“Not your fault,” she mouthed back. It wasn’t Hermione’s fault for knowing the answer. Moody would’ve come around to it eventually…

He continued, “Avada Kedavra’s a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it—you could all get your wands out now and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I’d get so much as a nosebleed. But that doesn’t matter. I’m not here to teach you how to do it. Now, if there’s no countercurse, why am I showing you? _Because you’ve got to know_. You’ve got to appreciate what the worst is. You don’t want to find yourself in a situation where you’re facing it. _Constant vigilance!_ ”

For the rest of the lesson, they silently took notes on the Unforgivable Curses. But as soon as they stepped out of the classroom, the halls were buzzing with talk on what they had seen. Chrys scowled at them.

It sounded like it had all been very entertaining for them. Harry reached over and squeezed her hand, giving her a tentative smile. She forced her face muscles to respond.

“Hurry up,” Hermione said tensely.

Ron groaned. “Not the ruddy library again?”

“No.” Hermione pointed. “Neville.” Neville was standing alone, staring at a wall. He was pale and wide-eyed. “Neville?” Hermione said gently. He turned.

“Oh hello.” His voice was a bit high-pitched. “Interesting lesson, wasn’t it? I wonder what’s for lunch, I’m—I’m starving, aren’t you?”

“No, not really,” Chrys said truthfully. “Feels like I’m gonna be sick.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Right. Sorry… me too.” She knew why she felt sick, but why… what exactly had Neville been through? She grimaced.

“Well, misery loves company, they say.”

“Anything… anything we can do for you, Neville?” Hermione asked hesitantly.

“Ah, no, I’m just—very interesting lunch—I mean, lesson—I…”

Ron gave Harry a startled look. “Neville, what—?”

They heard clunking footsteps and turned to see Moody moving towards them.

“It’s all right, sonny,” he growled softly to Neville. “Why don’t you come up to my office? Come on… we can have a cup of tea…” Neville stared fearfully at him. Chrys opened her mouth to tell Neville he didn’t have to go anywhere with this weird teacher if he didn’t want to, but then Moody spoke again, “Alright, you two?” His magical eye was swiveling, looking at Harry and Chrys.

“Yes,” Harry said defiantly.

“I’ll live,” Chrys said dryly. Harry gave her a sharp look.

“You’ve got to know,” Moody said. “It seems harsh, maybe, _but you’ve got to know_. No point pretending…well… come on, Longbottom, I’ve got some books that might interest you.”

Neville looked pleadingly at them. “Actually,” Chrys said, more loudly than she’d meant to. “Neville’s already promised to help me with something right now.” She grabbed his arm. Moody looked annoyed for a moment, and then shrugged.

“I’ll give them to you when I see you next, then, Longbottom.” He hobbled off again.

“Thanks, Chrys,” Neville breathed. Chrys considered him for a moment and then gave him a tight hug. Neville stiffened and then hugged her back.

He smiled weakly at her as they broke apart.

The rest of the day was slow and quiet. Chrys didn’t eat much during lunch, or dinner. After a couple of bites, she gave up and went with Hermione to the library.

She felt a lot more satisfied when they finished.

“Careful!” Hermione said, as Chrys nearly tripped over the portrait entrance and dropped their box. Harry looked up at the sound of her voice. He and Ron were sitting near the fire, working on what looked like their Divination homework.

“We’ve finished!” Hermione said proudly.

“So have I!” Ron said in the same tone. He pushed his parchment away from him.

“Don’t tell me you actually figured out how to read that chart?” Chrys said, sitting on the carpet in front of them with the box on her lap. Ron shook his head.

“Not a clue.”

Hermione picked up his work. “Not going to have a very good month, are you?” She sat on the couch next to him. Crookshanks leapt onto her lap, purring.

“Ah, well, at least I’m forewarned.” He yawned.

“You seem to be drowning twice,” Hermione told him.

“Oh, am I?” Ron looked. “I’d better change one of them to getting trampled by a rampaging hippogriff.” Chrys nodded to herself.

“Ah, so that’s how it is.”

“What do you mean?” Ron asked, blinking innocently.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit obvious you’ve made these up?” Hermione wondered.

“How dare you!” Ron said in mock outrage. “We’ve been working like house-elves here!” Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. Chrys hastily turned her laugh into a cough. “It’s just an expression!” Harry put down his quill.

“What’s in the box?” He pointed at it.

“Funny you should ask.” Hermione squinted at Ron. She took off the lid.

“Ta-dah!” Chrys said happily. “What do you think? Hermione’s are a bit neater, but I think my colors are prettier.”

“Er…” Harry picked up one of the badges. “ _Hers_? What’s this about?”

“Not _hers_ ,” Hermione said. “It’s H.E.R.S—House-Elf Rights Society. First I thought of making it: Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status, but it didn’t fit on the badges, so it’s our manifesto.” She brandished a piece of parchment at them. “Then I thought: Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, but Chrys said—”

“—But I said if she really wanted people to join her organization—”

“— _Our_ organization—“

“— _Our_ organization—then she can’t go and name it something like _spew_.”

Hermione frowned at her. “So… you’ve made an organization?” Ron asked, confused.

“Yes,” Hermione said impatiently.

“Huh… how many members have you got?”

“Well… four, if you two join,” Hermione said. Ron looked down at the badges uncertainly.

“Not sure I want to go walking around wearing a badge that says ‘hers’ on it.”

“H.E.R.S!” Hermione corrected him. “Not _hers_!”

“And it’s better than _spew_ , isn’t it?” Chrys reiterated.

“I guess,” Ron said. “But what’s the point?”

“What’s the point?” Hermione repeated furiously. “The point is that elf enslavement goes back centuries, and no one’s ever done anything about it—”

“Hermione,” Ron said loudly. “Open your ears! They _like_ being enslaved!” 

"Look," Chrys said. "You can't, by the definition of the word, _like_ slavery. Slavery means you're being forced into service against your will. Even if some house-elves, like Winky, want to work, she should at least be given a choice. And the little we can find about house-elf binding contracts indicates that most house-elves are considered property from the moment they're born."

"But-" Ron started.

“Our short-term aims,” Hermione said loudly. “Are to document any unfair treatment of house-elves. It’s a little vague, in my opinion. I wanted to go straight to securing fair wages and working conditions, but, as Chrys pointed out, we do need proof if we want to change anything legally, which we do. Our long term aims include changing the law about non-wand use, and trying to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, because they’re shockingly underrepresented.”

“And how do we do all this?” Harry asked. Chrys smiled at the ‘ _we_.’

“We start by recruiting members,” Hermione told him happily. “I thought two sickles to join—that buys a badge—and the proceeds can fund our leaflet campaign. Chrys is going to design the leaflets. I’ll collect the information. Ron, you’re treasurer—I’ve got you a collecting tin upstairs. Harry, you’re secretary, so you might want to start writing down everything I’m saying now—I’ll give you the minutes from the meetings Chrys and I have had previously.” Harry stared at her, exasperated. Then he turned to Ron, who looked dumbstruck, and his lips twitched. There was a tap on the window.

Harry jumped up and ran over to pull it open. “Hedwig!”

She flew in and landed on Chrys’ knee.

“There you are!” Chrys said. “We missed you, girl…” She stroked the top of her head with her thumb. Hedwig nipped her fingers affectionately.

“About time!” Harry said.

“She’s got an answer!” Ron pointed at the parchment tied to her leg.

Harry untied it and sat down.

“What does it say?” Hermione asked.

“ _Harry_ ,” Harry read. “ _I’m flying north immediately…”_ Harry’s brow furrowed. “ _This news about your scar is the latest in a series of strange rumors that have reached me here. If it hurts again, go straight to Dumbledore—they’re saying he’s got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he’s reading the signs, even if no one else is._ ”

“What rumors? What signs?” Chrys wondered.

Hermione shushed her and looked at Harry expectantly.

“ _I’ll be in touch soon. How is Chrys? Did her scar hurt too? My best to her, Ron, and Hermione. Keep your eyes open, Harry—Sirius.”_ Harry frowned.

“He’s flying north?” Hermione said, her eyes widening. “He’s coming _back_?”

“Well,” Chrys said. “Now we’ve just got more questions than— Don’t do that, Harry!”

Harry had smacked himself on the head, startling Hedwig, who flew over to rest on the table instead.

“What’s up?” Ron asked him.

“I shouldn’t have told him!” Harry said angrily. Chrys sighed.

Ron stared at him. “What are you on about?”

“It’s made him think he’s got to come back!” Harry punched the table. Hedwig flew onto the back of Ron’s chair now, eyeing Harry reproachfully.

“Don’t do that!” Chrys said again, catching his hands in hers. He pulled away from her.

“—Coming back because he thinks I’m in trouble! And there’s nothing wrong with me!” He growled. Hedwig hooted at me. Harry whirled on her. “And I haven’t got anything for you! You’ll have to go to the Owlery if you want food.” Hedwig shot him another look, clipping him with her wings as she took off again, and left through the window.

“Harry…” Hermione said hesitantly.

“No need to take it out on Hedwig,” Chrys muttered. “Or yourself…”

“I’m going to bed,” Harry said. “See you in the morning.” He stomped up the stairs.

“You’d better keep an eye on him,” Chrys said to Ron. He nodded.

“Of course.” He hurried after him.

Chrys groaned. “I’m _so_ tired of him blaming himself for everything—and for downplaying all this shit we get into. He _is_ in trouble, and he knows it!” She shook her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In light of Rowling's continuous Transphobic tweets, I would love to hear your trans character headcanons! Hopefully I could include some of them, although that might require some rewriting of earlier chapters.  
> Exploration of trans characters and their identities would not be a major plot line in this fic, because I don't feel like that is my story to tell. (If you have any recommendation of fics like that, I would be happy to give them a read!) That said, there are definitely some details, and scenes that I could include in my own writing.  
> Trans and GNC people are valid, and deserve representation. 
> 
> (Similarly, I think the depiction of house-elves and Hermione's advocating for their rights leaves something to be desired. I'm doing my best to change that vibe, but let me know if you have any ideas about ways that house-elves and also goblins could be better depicted).


	13. Of Research and Restraints

Chrys woke up early the next morning with an unsettled feeling in her stomach. She quietly got dressed and snuck out of the dorm, and out of Gryffindor Tower.

She was glad she’d put a jumper on under her robes—it was cold up in the Owlery. The circular stone room was filled glassless windows. She spotted Hedwig on a perch and called out to her. Hedwig came down to rest on a perch closer to her. Chrys gave her a few treats and then pulled some parchment and a quill out of her pockets. She leaned against the wall to write her letter.

_Dear Remus,_

_Sorry I haven’t written in a while. It’s been a busy couple of weeks, as you might have heard._

“What are you doing in here?”

Chrys turned to frown at Harry. “I could ask you the same thing," she said, resting her hands on her hips.

He considered her for a moment.

“I’m sending another note to Sirius. He can’t put himself at risk for me.”

“Have you ever considered that it's not your decision?” She said. He scowled. “He cares about you. He wants to help.” He shook his head.

“Well, I care about him too. And it’s not exactly helpful if he’s sent back to Azkaban… or loses his soul,” he said. She winced. “So, I’m going to tell him there’s nothing wrong with my scar, and he doesn’t need to come.” He met her eyes, daring her to try and stop him.

“Fine,” she said.

He blinked. “Fine?”

“Yeah. Fine. It’s stupid to lie to him, and I don’t think he’ll believe you in the slightest, but I understand why you want to.”

“Oh. All right.” He looked at the parchment she was holding. “Are you… writing to Lupin?”

She nodded. “I said I’d wait until Sirius replied. He replied, so I’m writing to Remus.”

Harry ran his hand through his hair. “What’re you going to say to him?”

Chrys chewed at her lip. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Lupin might be in contact with Sirius too. If you tell him about what happened, then—”

“I won’t mention your dream, but _I’m_ not going to lie about _my_ scar hurting.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

She leaned her parchment against the wall. “Now I’ve got to finish writing this letter—” She saw the hesitant look on his face. “What, Harry?”

“Er, I was going to use Hedwig, but if you need her…”

“Go ahead.” She handed him the last few treats from her pocket. “I’ll use a school owl.”

“Right. Thanks.” He moved closer to Hedwig, who turned her back on him. As Harry tried to apologize to her for his behavior last night, Chrys finished up her letter.

_I’m not sure if you’ve been in contact with Sirius lately. If you have, you might have heard about Harry and my scars hurting earlier this summer. I wanted to write to you about it. I don’t suppose you know anything? It seems to be a unique case (Hermione already scoured the library for anything on curse scars!). Anyway, Harry wanted to write to Sirius first, so he did, and we just heard back. Sirius says something’s afoot so he’s coming to talk about it in person. Harry is furious. I am worried about the scar incident, and I do agree with Sirius that some trouble seems to be brewing, but I also understand why Harry is worried about Sirius. Maybe you can talk him out of doing anything too stupid? (Sirius, I mean, no luck with Harry so far, and I’ve got fourteen years of experience)._

_I understand if you can’t, but I thought I’d ask._

_In better news, we met Ron’s brother Charlie this summer—he’s a dragonologist! I never thought about a career before, especially a wizarding career, but studying dragons for a living sounds amazing. _

_How is your job search doing? I’m keeping my fingers crossed that somebody will see how great you are and take you on._

_Love,_

_Chrys_

During breakfast, Harry told Ron and Hermione what he’d done.

“But you can’t seriously approve of this,” Hermione said to Chrys. “He shouldn’t _lie_ to Sirius—”

“Pass the bacon, Ron,” Chrys said. He did. “Thanks.” Hermione continued to stare at her. Chrys sighed. “Look, I’m not my brother’s keeper, he can do what he wants, okay?”

Hermione opened her mouth again.

“Drop it,” Ron warned her. Hermione frowned, but didn’t start up again.

Over the rest of the month, Harry was nervous and watchful every morning when post came. Hedwig hadn’t returned yet. And then a familiar-looking barn owl landed in front of Chrys.

“It’s a response from Remus…” She untied the letter from his leg and he flew off.

“Well?” Hermione said. “What does it say?”

“ _Dear Chrys_ ,” Chrys read.

“ _It’s always a pleasure to hear from you, though I wish it would be under better circumstances. I have not heard from our friend recently, but that is to be expected, considering the position he is in._

 _As for this business with your scar… I'm sorry to say that I have nothing helpful to tell you at the moment. As you say, it's a very unique situation, so we don't have much of a reference point. However, I, like Hermione, will look to my books and then get back to you_.” Ron laughed. Hermione shot him a look.

_“Give her, Ron, and Harry my best. And tell Harry that I don’t think Padfoot is stupid enough to just run out into the open. I will attempt to get in contact with him and see what his plan is—but no promises, I’m afraid._

_Thank you for your encouragement with my job search. I am keeping at it._ ” Chrys frowned. So, it still wasn’t going well.

_“Please write again if anything else strange happens, or simply if you ever need someone to write to._

_Yours truly,_

_Remus Lupin._ ”

Chrys looked up from her letter, feeling almost guilty when she saw Harry’s envious expression. “I’m sure Hedwig will be back soon.”

“Maybe.” Harry shook his head. “I just need a distraction… I miss Quidditch.”

“But surely our classes are busy enough?” Hermione thought.

“If you’re saying that, they must be,” Ron said solemnly.

“Yeah, the workload has gotten heavier lately,” Harry agreed. “But I miss that peaceful sort of exhaustion that comes after good hour of training, you know?”

“Not really,” Chrys said. “But… if you want, you can come jogging with me and Ginny the next time we go.” Harry smiled.

“Maybe I will. Just let me know when.”

“Right.” Hermione stood up. “In the meantime, we’d better not be late for Transfiguration.”

In Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall explained why they had been getting so much homework recently.

“You are now entering a most important phase of your magical education! Your Ordinary Wizarding Levels are drawing closer—”

“We don’t take O.W.Ls till fifth year!” Dean complained.

Professor McGonagall narrowed her eyes at him. He shrunk back.

“Maybe not, Thomas, but believe me, you need all the preparation you can get! Miss Granger remains the only person in this class who has managed to turn a hedgehog into a satisfactory pincushion,” she reminded them. Hermione flushed. Chrys sighed. Her pincushion tended to stab anyone who tried to stick a pin in it, which, really, was only fair—wasn’t it?

DADA was just as rigorous, if not more so.

“Today I will be putting the Imperius Curse on each of you in turn,” Moody growled. They stared at him. “We’ll see if you can resist its effects—and even if you can’t, this’ll teach you not to underestimate it.” He waved his wand and their desks swept off to the sides, clearing the middle of the room.

“But—but you said it’s illegal, Professor,” Hermione said, confused. “You said—to use it against another human was—”

“Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like,” Moody told her. Chrys grimaced. Dumbledore had also thought it was a good idea to hide a Cerberus behind a door in the third floor corridor their first year. “If you’d rather learn the hard way—when someone’s putting it on you so they can control you completely—fine by me. You’re excused. Off you go.” He pointed at the door.

Hermione stiffened.

“I… I didn’t mean I wanted to leave…” She muttered, so quietly Chrys wasn’t sure anyone else had heard her. She raised her head and looked back at him determinedly.

Moody nodded. “Good.”

Harry and Ron shared a grin.

No one was grinning much after that.

Dean, Lavender, and Neville all immediately yielded to the curse. Normally Chrys would have laughed at Dean hopping around the room singing God Save the Queen, but the fact that he was being _forced_ to do it…

She shuddered.

Then Moody called Harry to the center of the room.

Moody pointed his wand at Harry. “ _Imperio!”_   
Harry’s face relaxed. He grinned goofily and bent his knees. Then something else flashed over his face… irritation? He smacked headfirst into a desk. He collapsed, groaning.

“Harry!” Chrys ran over to him. She helped him up, glaring at Moody.

“What d’you make him do that for?”

Moody stared at Harry. “I… didn’t.” A smile stretched over Moody’s scarred face. “Now _that’s_ more like it!” He turned to the rest of the room as Harry rubbed his head and knees. “Look at that, you lot… he fought! He fought it, and he damn near beat it! We’ll try that again, Potter, and the rest of you, pay attention—watch his eyes, that’s where you see it—very good, Potter, very good indeed! They’ll have trouble controlling _you_!”

Moody put the spell on Harry three more times until Harry was able to throw it off completely. Then he moved on to Chrys, clearly expectant.

_“Imperio!”_

Chrys felt relaxed and happy, like she was lying in front of a warm fire on a soft carpet.

 _‘Spin…’_ Moody’s voice echoed in her head. The sound of his voice sent a small flicker of annoyance through her. He had just spent fifteen minutes putting an illegal, manipulative spell on Harry over and over again. He had _hurt_ Harry. Her annoyance grew to anger, but her body was already responding—she spun around like ballerina. _‘Spin…Spin…’_ She got dizzy as she spun again and again. _‘Leap…’_ This was stupid. She wanted to sit down. She was not going to— _‘Leap!’_ The warm and soft feeling increased. Chrys forgot what she had been thinking about. She forgot everything, except: _‘Leap!’_

By the time they got out of class, Harry was limping from slamming his knees into the desk repeatedly, but… “At least you were able to beat it,” Chrys grumbled. “How come you could do it and I couldn’t?”

Harry shrugged.

“Well, _nobody_ else could,” Hermione pointed out logically. Chrys grunted. “But, I do think you almost got it, Chrys. Professor Moody said to focus on the eyes—”

“He would say that, wouldn’t he?” Chrys muttered. Ron snorted.

“—And your eyes looked really…” Hermione paused. “I don’t know, determined?”

“Angry,” Ron supplied. “You looked furious there, for a moment, like you were ready to hit him or something. And then your face went blank again, like everyone else’s.”

“Well, I was,” Chrys thought. Hermione frowned. “I was furious, I mean, not about to hit him, ‘Mione. I just…” She ran her hand through her hair. “I don’t really like being told what to do, I guess…” Harry nodded sympathetically.

“You did better than me, at any rate,” Ron said. He was still skipping every other step, but Moody said it should wear off soon. “Why put us through all that?”

“You heard him,” Hermione said. “If we’re attacked—”

“Yeah, but the way he talks, you’d think we were all going to be attacked any second,” Harry said, wincing as they started down a flight of stars.

“Couldn’t we be?” Chrys thought of Quirrell, and the Basilisk, and the Dementors... Ron shook his head.

“Don’t let his paranoia get to you, Chrys. Did you hear him telling Seamus what he did to that witch who shouted ‘boo!’ behind him on April Fools’ Day? And when are we supposed to read up on resisting the Imperius Curse with everything else we’ve got to do?”

Even Hagrid had piled on the work, telling them to come down to his hut every other night to take notes on the rapidly growing Skrewts.

“I will not,” Malfoy said. “I see enough of these foul things during lessons, thanks.” Chrys frowned and opened her mouth.

“Yeh’ll do wha’ yer told,” Hagrid growled. “Or I’ll be takin’ a leaf outta Professor Moody’s book… I hear yeh made a good ferret, Malfoy.”

They laughed. Harry had a bit of a spring in his step as they walked back up to the castle.

“What’s going on here?” Ron wondered, studying the big crowd gathered around a sign in the Entrance Hall. “ _Triwizard Tournament: The Delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 O’Clock on Sunday the 30 th of October. Students will assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast.”_

“Only a couple days away!” Ernie said excitedly to Hannah. “I wonder if Cedric knows? Let’s go and tell him.”

“Cedric?” Ron repeated, as Ernie and Hannah rushed off.

“Diggory. He must be entering the tournament,” Harry figured.

“That idiot, Hogwarts champion?” Ron said as they moved through the crowd towards the stairs.

“Is he an idiot?” Chrys wondered.

“No, he’s not,” Hermione said. “I’ve heard he’s a really good student— _and_ he’s a prefect. Ron just doesn’t like him because he beat Gryffindor at Quidditch.”

“You only like him because he’s _handsome_ ,” Ron grumbled.

“Excuse me?” Hermione huffed. “I don’t like people just because they’re handsome!”

“Lockhart!” He coughed. Chrys snorted. Hermione glared at both of them.

Over the next couple of days, Ron wasn’t the only one discussing who would be Hogwarts champion. The Hogwarts rumor mill was busy churning out any and all ideas.

Meanwhile, the teachers seemed to be more concerned about properly representing Hogwarts to the visiting schools. Filch was wiping down every portrait frame and suit of armor until they gleamed. When group of first year girls tracked mud into the hall, he yelled at them so loudly that they burst into tears. Chrys glared at him and shepherded them away, handing over some licorice wands for good measure.

On Friday, Neville nearly cried when he accidentally transplanted his ears onto a cactus during Transfiguration and Professor McGonagall snapped at him.

“It’s okay.” Chrys patted him on the shoulder. “I don’t think anyone from Durmstrang will actually care whether you can do a Switching Spell or not.”

“Well, it is quite a difficult spell,” Hermione said. This was not very comforting, as _she_ had gotten it right on her third try.

They were all glad when Sunday finally came. They came down to breakfast that morning to find the Great Hall decorated with silk banners for each House, rather than the usual floating pumpkins for this time of year. Chrys spotted Fred and George sitting on their own at the end of the table, got curious, and went to join them. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed her.

“It’s a bummer all right,” George said sadly to Fred. “But if he won’t talk to us in person, we’ll have to send him the letter after all. Or we’ll stuff it into his hand. He can’t avoid us forever.”

“Who’s avoiding you?” Ron asked, sitting next to him.

“Wish you would,” Fred grunted.

“What’s a bummer?” Ron pressed.

“Having a noisy git like you for a brother,” George replied.

“Actually, I was the one who came to sit over here,” Chrys admitted.

“Well, that’s all right then,” George said, reaching over to ruffle her hair.

Fred grinned. “Miss us?”

“Desperately,” Chrys deadpanned. Fred grinned even wider. Chrys wondered how she’d suddenly gotten into a staring contest with him.

“You two got any ideas on the Triwizard Tournament yet?” Harry asked. “Thought any more about trying to enter?”

“I asked McGonagall how the champions are chosen but she wasn’t telling.” George grimaced. “She just told me to shut up and get on with transfiguring my raccoon.”

“Wonder what the tasks are going to be?” Ron thought. “You know, I bet we could do them, Harry. We’ve done dangerous stuff before…”

“Not in front of a panel of judges, you haven’t,” Fred pointed out, finally breaking eye contact with Chrys. “McGonagall says the champions get awarded points according to how well they’ve done the tasks.”

“Who are the judges?” Harry wondered.

“Well, the Heads of the participating schools are always on the panel,” Hermione said knowledgeably. They turned to look at her. “Because all three of them were injured during the Tournament of 1792, when a cockatrice the champions were supposed to be catching went on the rampage.”

“Cockatrices are like dragons, aren't they?” Chrys thought. Hermione nodded.

“Yes, they—”

Ron waved his hand. “Never mind that—how do you know all this stuff about the judges?”

“It’s all in _Hogwarts, A History_ ,” Hermione said impatiently. Chrys laughed.

“Of course. Why’d you even ask, Ron?”

“Though, of course, that book’s not _entirely_ reliable,” Hermione continued. Chrys sighed.

“Not this again.”

“What again?” Ron wondered.

“Hermione’s annoyed her favorite book never mentioned anything about the house-elves who work here,” Chrys explained. Harry shook his head and scooped some scrambled eggs onto his plate.

“ _A Revised History of Hogwarts_ would be a more accurate title—or _A Highly Biased and **Selective**_ _History of Hogwarts, which Glosses Over the Nastier Aspects of the School._ You’d think in a over a thousand pages there would be at least a _mention_ that we are all colluding in the oppression of a hundred slaves!” Hermione complained. Ron rolled his eyes.

"It has been hard to find information," Chrys agreed. "We only know about binding contracts because _A Treatsie on Magical Law_ mentioned them in a footnote. I mean, it was a very long footnote..."

"Binding contracts?" Harry repeated, putting some food on her plate now. "You mentioned those before."

"It's the wording of the contracts that's important," Hermione said. "A lot of the crueler families have very restrictive, and frankly _violent_ contracts."

"You know, like how Dobby had to punish himself for every little thing," Chrys told Harry. He frowned.

"Other contracts, while still outdated and uncessary, are slightly more respectful," Hermione continued. "The tricky thing is, many contracts apply to a house-elf's entire bloodline. So, the current house-elves really have no say in the matter."

"...Alright," Ron said. "That does sound... bad."

"Your words are inspiring, ickle-Ronniekins," Fred said. Ron made a rude gesture at him.

"What I'd like to do..." Hermione said, ignoring them. "...Is get a look at the Hogwarts house-elves' original contract." Chrys nodded as she chewed, pointing her fork at her. "Madam Pince said those documents are typically stored in private archives, because they're very old and could be easily damaged. Unfortunately, access to those archives is restricted, and she wouldn't say any more on the subject. We tried to ask Professor Binns about it, but he only gave us an academic lecture on the personhood of magical creatures." She made a face.

"Aren't ghosts magical creatures?" Ron wondered.

"Not according to him they're not," Hermione grumbled. "Apparently, ghosts are _different_." Ron snorted.

"Even McGonagall couldn't tell us," Chrys went on. "Not her department, she said. But _someone_ has to know _something_ …"

"What about Dumbledore?" Harry suggested. Hermione made a noncomittal noise.

"We spoke to him."

"And?" Harry said.

"He was alright," Chrys said. "He forms contracts with any new hires, although there aren't too many, since most house-elves tend to stick to one family."

"His contracts are... fine," Hermione said. "I still think there's a lot to be improved, but at least he has thought about offering amendments, which, unfortunately, the house-elves themselves haven't been very receptive to."

"And you can't force them to take pay or sick leave," Chrys said. "That'd be the opposite of what we want."

Hermione sighed. "Change on this scale can be difficult."

"Hold on," Harry said. "What'd Dumbledore say about the original contract?"

"Ah." Chrys grimaced. "There's the rub. He doesn't have access to the original documents either. Told us the school governors might know, but they won't take a meeting with just anyone. I even tried to leverage the whole Girl Who Lived thing..." She flipped her hair and stuck up her nose, doing a rather good impression of Narcissa Malfoy. Everyone laughed. "But they said they weren't taking any meetings at this time."

"Sounds like the whole contract thing might be a bust," Ron thought. Hermione glared at him. "For now!" Harry laughed quietly. "I'm just saying, looks like you might need to come at it from a different angle."

Chrys nodded. "That's what I thought. I've been telling Hermione from the beginning, legalities are important, but if we can't talk to the house-elves themselves, we're not gonna do a good job helping them, no matter how good our intentions are."

Hermione sighed again. "But we haven't been able to speak to a single house-elf."

Fred and George exchanged a quick look.

"What?" Chrys prompted, poking Fred on the shoulder. He studied the H.E.R.S. badge pinned to the strap of her bag.

"Look," he said. "Sounds like house-elves in general have a rough lot in life. But the elves at Hogwarts seem to be doing just fine."

Chrys grinned. "I knew it! You have met them."

Fred shrugged, chewing on a piece of bacon.

George leaned in closer to her and Hermione.

“Listen, have either of you been down in the kitchens?”

“No, of course not,” Hermione said. “I hardly think students are supposed to—”

“Well, we have.” George gestured at Fred and himself. “Loads of times, to nick food. And we’ve met them, and they’re _happy_. They think they’ve got the best job in the world—”

“That’s because they’re uneducated and brainwashed!” Hermione said.

"Hermione," Chrys said. "You don't have to insult them." Hermione paused.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I just—"

There was a whoosh above them as the morning post came. Hermione and Ron looked worriedly at Harry as Hedwig landed in front of him.

“Hey…” Chrys stroked her beck as Harry hurriedly untied the message from her leg. “You looked tired…”

“Where’s she flown from?” George wondered. Chrys and Harry shared a look.

“Professor Lupin,” Chrys lied.

“What are you writing to him for?” Fred asked.

“Oh, I found out he’s my godfather at the end of last year,” she told them truthfully. “Isn’t that cool?”

“Sure...” Fred and George said together, giving her odd looks as she snatched the parchment from Harry and shoved it down the front of her robes.

After breakfast they took a walk around the lake, and Harry read it aloud.

“ _Nice try, Harry_.”

Chrys snorted. “Told you so.”

Harry elbowed her lightly. _“I’m back in the country and well hidden. I want you to keep me posted on everything that’s going on at Hogwarts. Don’t use Hedwig, keeping changing owls, and don’t worry about me, just watch out for yourself. Don’t forget what I said about your scar—Sirius.”_

“Why d’you have to keep changing owls?” Ron wondered.

“Hedwig’ll draw too much attention,” Hermione reasoned. “She stands out. A snowy owl that keeps returning to wherever he’s hiding… I mean, they’re not native birds, are they?”

“Guess so,” Chrys said, eyeing Harry, who had an odd thoughtful expression on his face.

Early that evening, the students were told to put on their pointy black hats and wait downstairs in the Entrance Hall.

“Come here,” Hermione said to Chrys. “Your hat is crooked.”

“Who cares?” Ron wondered, as Hermione straightened it for her.

“Weasley, straighten your hat!” Professor McGonagall called out. Hermione gave Ron a vindictive look. “Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair.”

Parvati frowned and pulled a sparkly butterfly clip off the end of her plait.

“Well, I thought it looked nice,” Chrys whispered to her.

Parvati smiled.

Professor McGonagall led her house down to the front of the castle. The first years were up front. Chrys could see Dennis Creevey vibrating with excitement.

Ron glanced at his watch. “Nearly six.” He looked past the front gates down the path. “How d’you reckon they’re coming? The train?”

“I doubt it,” Hermione said.

“How, then? Broomsticks?” Harry looked up at the sky, where the first stars were just starting to emerge. Hermione shook her head.

“I don’t think so… not from that far away…”

“Magic carpet?” Chrys thought.

“Same principle applies, Chrys,” Hermione told her.

“A Portkey?” Ron tried again. “Or they could Apparate—” Chrys winced as annoyance flashed over Hermione’s face. “Maybe you’re allowed to do it under seventeen wherever they come from?”

“You can’t Apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds, how often do I have to tell you?” Hermione grumbled.

“A whole herd of hippogriffs,” Chrys guessed.

“A fleet of flying cars,” Harry said.

“Dragons,” Chrys said.

“Just… just stop,” Hermione said. They waited. Harry shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around himself.

“Ah!” Dumbledore said. “Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!”

“Where?” The students looked around.

“There!” Someone pointed at the sky. A large object was flying towards them.

“It’s a dragon!” One of the Gryffindor first years shouted.

“I wish…” Chrys sighed.

“Don’t be stupid—it’s a flying house!” Dennis thought.

As it got closer, they saw that it was a horse-drawn carriage, roughly the size of a house. The golden horses had wings, and were each the size of a small elephant.

“Well… that’s somewhere between a car and a herd of hippogriffs,” Harry thought.

The first couple rows of students hurriedly pressed back as the carriage started to descend towards them at top speed. It landed loudly. Neville jumped and stepped on a Slytherin’s foot. The Slytherin glared and Parvati pulled Neville further away from him.

The carriage bounced on its wheels, and the horses tossed back their golden manes. Their eyes were a fiery red.

The sky-blue carriage had a symbol of two crossed wands on the door. Chrys was just counting the stars coming from the wands when the door opened. A boy in matching blue robes jumped out and unfolded a golden set of steps. Then he moved out of the way, and a giant high-heel emerged from the doorway. People gasped as a woman of proportional largeness to the horses stepped out onto the path.

She was as tall as Hagrid, but much more magnificently dressed in black satin and rings and a necklace of rainbow colored gems.

The shocked silence was broken as Dumbledore clapped and the students followed suit. The woman smiled and extended her hand to him. He kissed it.

“My dear Madame Maxime,” he said. “Welcome to Hogwarts.”

“Dumbley-dorr,” Madame Maxime greeted him. “I ‘ope I find you well?”

“In excellent form, I thank you.”

“My pupils.” Madame Maxime gestured behind her at the dozen boys and girls getting out of the carriage behind her. They were all dressed in those blue robes, which Chrys thought might be made of silk. They shivered, a few of them wrapping scarves around their heads. “’As Karkaroof arrived yet?”

“He should be here any moment,” Dumbledore told her. “Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?”

“Warm up, I think,” Maxime said. “But ze ‘orses—”

“Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them…” Dumbledore assured her. Chrys smiled. “…The moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his other—er—charges.”

“Skrewts,” Ron muttered, amused.

“My steeds require—er—forceful ‘andling,” Maxime said doubtfully. “Zey are very strong…”

“I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job.” Dumbledore smiled.

“Very well.” Maxime bowed her head. “Will you please inform zis ‘Agrid zat ze’ ‘orses drink only single-malt whiskey?”

“It will be attended to.” Dumbledore dipped his head in return.

“Come.” With that one word, Maxime’s students followed her towards the castle, the Hogwarts crowd parting to let them pass.

Seamus leaned around Lavender and Parvati. “How big d’you reckon Durmstrang’s horses are going to be?” He asked Harry and Ron.

“Well, if they’re any bigger than this lot, even Hagrid won’t be able to handle them,” Harry thought. “That’s if he hasn’t been attacked by his skrewts. Wonder what’s up with them?”

“Maybe they’ve escaped,” Ron said hopefully.

“Oh don’t say that.” Hermione shuddered. “Imagine that loose on the grounds…”

“Ugh,” Lavender said.

“Anyway, just because Beauxbatons had horses, doesn’t mean Durmstrang will,” Chrys figured.

“Can you hear something?” Ron asked.

“What, the horses?” Chrys said, eyeing them interestedly as they stomped and snorted.

“No, not that.” Ron frowned, looking around. “Where’s it coming from?”

“The lake!” Lee Jordan said, pointing. “Look at the lake!”

There were slurping and shuffling sounds coming from the lake. The smooth black surface broke, sending waves over the bank. In the middle was a whirlpool, out of which emerged a long black pole.

“It’s a mast!” Harry realized. A black ship rose from the lake, the portholes glinting in the moonlight. Then it glided over to the shore. There was another splash, “An anchor.” And a thud, as a ramp descended onto the ground.

The Durmstrang students started to disembark. It too dark and they were too far away from Chrys to see them clearly, but she could see they all seemed to be rather bulky.

As they got closer, she saw their bulkiness was due to their thick fur robes. The man at the front was also wearing fur robes, but clearly of a more expensive make. The fur was slick, shiny and silver like his hair.

“Dumbledore!” He called out. “How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?” Chrys made a face. His voice was just as oily as the rest of him.

“Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff,” Dumbledore replied.

Karkaroff shook Dumbledore’s hand with both of his own.

“Dear old Hogwarts.” He looked up at the castle. His eyes were sharp. He smiled. His teeth were yellow. “How good it is to be here, how good… Viktor, come along into the warmth…” He beckoned one of his students closer. “You don’t mind, Dumbeldore? Vikor has a slight head cold…” Ron punched Harry on the shoulder.

“Harry, it’s _Krum_!” He whispered excitedly.


	14. Of The Goblet of Fire and Going to Enter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't love this chapter title, but I couldn't think of anything else.

“I don’t believe it!” Ron said as they walked back up into the castle. “Krum, Harry! _Viktor Krum!_ ”

“For heaven’s sake, Ron, he’s only a Quidditch player,” Hermione said.

“ _Only a Quidditch player_?” Ron repeated, aghast. “Hermione—he’s one of the best seekers in the world! I had no idea he was still at school!”

Ron wasn’t the only one excited by Krum’s appearance. Lee Jordan was jumping up and down, trying to see him over the sea of heads. A group of girls were searching their pockets.

“Oh I don’t believe it. I haven’t got a single quill on me—”

“D’you think he’d sign my hat in lipstick?”

“Here.” Chrys held out an extra quill to them. They squealed.

“Ooh! Thanks, Potter!”

“ _Really_.” Hermione rolled her eyes as they passed the girls, who were now fighting over the quill. Ron frowned.

“What’d you give it to them for, Chrys?”

“Calm down,” she said. “I’m sure I have another somewhere… Ah, here you go.” She gave it to him. He grinned like it was Christmas.

“Thanks, you’re the best!”

In the Great Hall, Ron motioned for them to sit where they had a good view of the doorway. Krum and the other Durmstrang students were still standing there, eyeing the differently tables hesitantly. The Beauxbatons students were already sitting at the Ravenclaw table.

Hermione frowned as they pulled their shawls closer around them.

“It’s not _that_ cold. Why didn’t they bring cloaks?”

“Over here!” Ron muttered under his breath. “Come and sit over here! Over here! Hermione, budge up, make a space—”

“What?”

Ron groaned. “Too late.” The Durmstrang students had moved to sit at the Slytherin table. Malfoy leaned over to talk to Krum. “Yeah, that’s right, smarm up to him, Malfoy. I bet Krum can see right through him, though… bet he gets people fawning over him all the time… where’d you reckon they’re going to sleep? We could offer him a space in our dormitory, Harry… I wouldn’t mind giving him my bed.” Harry and Chrys had to look away from each other before they burst into laughter. “I could kip on a camp bed.”

Hermione snorted. Ron frowned.

“They look a lot happier than the Beauxbatons lot,” Harry said before they could start arguing. The Durmstrang students were pulling off their fur coats. Chrys admired the blood red robes they wore underneath as they admired the starry sky on the enchanted ceiling above them, and the golden plates and goblets out on the table. “But there are only two extra people… why’s Filch putting out four chairs—who else is coming?” Chrys followed Harry’s gaze to the dais, where Filch was adding extra chairs behind the staff table.

“Huh?” Ron said distractedly. He was still watching Krum.

“Don’t know,” Chrys said to Harry. “But I expect we’ll find out soon…”

Now that the students had settled, the staff started up to their seats. Professor Dumbledore, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime brought up the rear. The Beauxbatons students jumped to their feet as their headmistress passed. A couple of the Hogwarts students laughed. The Beauxbatons students ignored them, and only sat again when Madame Maxime had. Dumbledore remained standing.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and—most particularly—guests,” he said, smiling down at all of them. “I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.”

One of the Beauxbatons students who was wrapped in her shawl laughed bitterly.

“No one’s making you stay!” Hermione hissed.

“The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast,” Dumbledore continued. “I now invite you to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!” He sat. Karkaroff leaned over to talk to him as food appeared on their plates.

Chrys looked around at the interesting dishes. She helped herself to a bit of everything.

“What’s that?” Ron pointed.

“Bouillabaisse,” Hermione told him.

“Bless you.”

Hermione’s lips twitched. “It’s _French_. I had it on holiday summer before last. It’s very nice.”

Ron shrugged. “I’ll take your word for it.” He went for some black pudding instead.

Chrys struggled with getting a mussel out of its shell.

“Here.” Hermione said, reaching over to her plate. “There’s a trick to it…”

Just then, Hagrid came in and sat at the staff table. He spotted them and waved with his heavily bandaged hand.

“Skrewts doing all right?” Harry called up to him.

“Thrivin’,” Hagrid said happily.

“Yeah, I’ll bet they are,” Ron whispered. “Looks like they’ve finally found a food they like, doesn’t it? Hagrid’s fingers.” Chrys snorted.

“Excuse me.” They turned to see the girl who had laughed during Dumbledore’s speech standing near them. “Are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?” She was very pretty, Chrys realized, now that she had taken the scarf off from around her face. She had waist-length hair, like Chrys, but unlike Chrys, her hair was sleek and shiny. Chrys felt almost mesmerized by the silvery waterfall, and had to restrain herself from reaching out to see if it was as soft as it looked.

Chrys heard a weird gargling noise and tore her eyes off the girl to investigate. It was Ron. He was purple-faced and open-mouthed.

“Yeah, have it,” Harry said, pushing the dish towards her.

“You ‘ave finished wiz it?”

“Yeah,” Ron said breathlessly. “Yeah, it was excellent.” Ron stared as she walked back over to the Ravenclaw table, her hair swinging. Chrys leaned her elbow on the table. Harry laughed. Ron shook himself. Chrys realized she’d put her elbow in the butter dish. She flushed and dabbed at her robes, wondering what had gotten into her. “She’s a _veela_!”

Chrys blinked. Ah. “Of course she isn’t!” Hermione said sharply. “I don’t see anyone else gaping at her like an idiot!”

Harry glanced at Chrys, who shook her head quickly. He looked around the room. Plenty of other boys and girls were watching the girl, wide-eyed.

“I’m telling you, that’s not a normal girl!” Ron leaned around Chrys to get a better look at her. “They don’t make them like that at Hogwarts!”

“They make them okay at Hogwarts,” Harry said, gazing at Cho, who sat a few seats away from the possible-veela. Chrys smiled slightly.

“When you’ve both put your eyes back in,” Hermione said. “You’ll be able to see who’s just arrived.” Bagman and Crouch had just filled the last two seats at the staff table.

“What are _they_ doing here?” Harry wondered.

“They organized the Triwizard Tournament, didn’t they?” Hermione recalled. “I suppose they wanted to be here to see it start.” Chrys nodded, distracted by the appearance of the desserts on the table.

Ron examined the dish of an extra wiggly blancemange arranged it carefully so that it could be seen from the Ravenclaw table. Hermione rolled her eyes.

The possible-veela-girl didn’t come to get the pudding.

Soon the golden plates were cleared and Dumbledore stood. The hall hushed immediately. Fred and George leaned forward.

“The moment has come,” Dumbledore said. “The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket—”

“The what?” Harry and Chrys wondered. Ron shrugged.

“—Just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.” People applauded politely. Hermione, pointedly, did not.

"Cooperation!" She muttered, shaking her head.

“And Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports," Dumbledore continued. There was a much louder applause for Bagman.

Bagman smiled and waved.

“Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament, and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions’ efforts," Dumbledore explained. Fred and George leaned forward even more. Dumbledore smiled.

“The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch.”

Filch walked up to Dumbledore carrying a large wooden chest. It was covered with jewels and looked very old. Dennis stood on his chair to try and get a better look, but even then he was too short to see over the heads of the other students. Chrys nodded sympathetically.

“The instructions have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman…” Filch placed the chest on the table. “…And they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways… Their magical prowess—their daring—their powers of deduction—and, of course, their ability to cope with danger…”

Many of the students looked around nervously at each other.

“As you know, three champions compete in the tournament—one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: The Goblet of Fire.”

Dumbledore tapped his wand three times on the casket. The hall was so quiet they could hear it creak open. Dumbledore reached in and pulled out a large wooden cup filled with blue flames. He closed the casket again and rested the cup on top of it. “Anybody wishing to submit themselves as a champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet. Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. In celebration of this event, Hogwarts lessons are canceled for tomorrow!”

Many of the Hogwarts students cheered.

“Brilliant!” Harry said. “Snape will have to put off poisoning us!” Snape kept assigning them research on antidotes, heavily implying that they would need it.

Hermione frowned.

“Right in the middle of studying for our O.W.L.s?”

“Oh, give it a rest, Hermione,” Ron said.

“The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to those wishing to compete,” Dumbledore continued. “To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation…” He looked down at them over the top of his glasses. “…I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it is placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line.” Fred and George looked at each other, determined. “Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion.” Chrys frowned. She thought of the house-elf contracts. Was that really necessary? What if someone became seriously ill? They’d be forced to compete anyway? “Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all.”

“An Age Line!” Fred smirked as they made their way out of the Great Hall. “Well, that should be fooled by an Aging Potion, shouldn’t it? And once your name’s in that goblet, you’re laughing—it can’t tell whether you’re seventeen or not!”

“But I don’t think anyone under seventeen will stand a chance,” Hermione said. “We just haven’t learned enough—”

“Speak for yourself,” George said. “You’ll try and get in, won’t you, Harry?”

Harry turned to Chrys. “How angry do you reckon Dumbledore’d be if someone _did_ find a way to get over the age line?”

Chrys frowned. She had a hard enough time watching him play Quidditch.

“Where is he?” Ron looked around.

“Who?” Chrys wondered.

“Krum!” Ron said impatiently. “Dumbledore didn’t say where the Durmstrang people are sleeping, did he?”

“Back to the ship, then,” Karkaroff said to his students. Ron deflated. Fred laughed. “Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?” Krum shook his head.

“…He reminds me of Aunt Petunia fussing over Dudley,” Chrys muttered to Harry.

He snorted. “Professor _I_ vood like some _vine_ ,” another Durmstrang boy said.

“I wasn’t offering it to _you_ , Poliakoff,” Karkaroff snapped.

“Yep, definitely like Aunt Petunia,” Harry whispered.

Karkaroff turned his nose up. “I notice you have dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy…” He turned towards the doors. Harry stepped out of the way to let him by first. Karkaroff glanced at him briefly. “Thank you.” Then he froze and turned slowly to look him over more thoroughly. The Durmstrang students stopped short, wondering what was happening. Then they followed Karkaroff’s gaze to Harry’s scar, and understanding flashed on their faces. Poliakoff nudged the girl next to him and pointed at Harry. Chrys cleared her throat.

“So…” The attention snapped on to her.

“Yeah, those are the Potter twins,” Moody growled. Karakaroff spun around, his eyes growing even wider. His face paled.

“You!” He stared at Moody.

“Me,” Moody agreed. “And unless you’ve got anything to say to them, Karakaroff, you might want to move. You’re blocking the doorway.” Harry glanced back at all the students standing on tiptoe to see what the hold up was in front of them. Karkaroff shooed his students out the door. Moody watched him carefully, dislike clear on his face.

To have a Monday free was rare, so Chrys would’ve liked to sleep in, but Hermione insisted on going down early.

And she wasn’t the only one.

There were about twenty people standing outside the golden line that surrounded the Goblet of Fire in the Entrance Hall. 

“Morning, Chrys,” Padma said. “Toast?” She offered her a slice.

“Thanks.” Chrys chewed.

“Anyone put their name in yet?” Ron asked her.

She nodded. “All the Durmstrang lot… but I haven’t seen anyone from Hogwarts yet.”

“Bet some of them put it in last night after we’d all gone to bed,” Harry thought. “I would’ve if it had been me… wouldn’t have wanted everyone watching. What if the goblet just gobbed you right back out again?”

Padma studied him thoughtfully. “I don’t think it would, with you,” she said. Harry blinked at her. They looked up as they heard a peal of familiar laughter. Fred, George, and Lee were running down the stairs.

“Done it!” Fred whispered excitedly to Chrys. He paused when he noticed Padma.

“Don’t mind me,” she said, dusting crumbs off her hands. “I think I’ll go in for more food.” She headed through the doors to the Great Hall.

“Anyway…” Fred said slowly. “We’ve just taken it.”

“What?” Ron said.

“The Aging Potion, dung brains,” Fred told him impatiently.

“One drop each.” George rubbed his hands together. “We only need to be a few months older.” Lee grinned.

“We’re going to split the thousand Galleons between the three of us if one of us wins.”

“I’m not sure this is going to work, you know,” Hermione said. “I’m sure Dumbledore will have thought of this.”

“Probably,” Chrys agreed.

“Ready?” Fred asked Lee and George, ignoring the girls. “C’mon, then—I’ll go first.” He took out a piece of parchment with his name on it. Then he walked up to the line, rocked on his toes, took a deep breath, and stepped over.

…George shouted in excitement and leapt after his brother. There was a hiss like bacon in a pan and the twins were thrown backwards out of the circle. Chrys ran over to them, worried about how hard they’d smacked into the ground.

There was a pop and she burst into laughter.

They had both sprouted long white beards.

“I did warn you,” Dumbledore said as he came out of the Great Hall. He smiled. “I suggest you both go to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett of Ravenclaw, and Mr. Summers of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little too.” He stroked his beard as he surveyed the Weasley twins. “Though I must say, neither of their beards is anything like as fine as yours.”

Chrys started laughing again, and reached over to tug on Fred’s beard. He stared at her for a moment before dissolving into laughter as well.

“Oh, they’ve put the Halloween decorations up!” Chrys said as they stepped into the Great Hall. She looked around appreciatively at the bats flying over their heads, and the large floating pumpkins. Harry sat down next to Dean and Seamus, who were talking about students who might be entering.

“Morning,” Chrys said, trying to grab the plate of sausages and nearly dropping them.

“Morning,” Dean echoed, helping her steady the plate. She grinned at him.

“So, who’s entering?” Harry asked.

“Well, there’s a rumor going around that Warrington got up early and put his name in,” Dean told them. Chrys looked at him confusedly. “That big bloke from Slytherin who looks like a sloth.”

Harry shook his head. “We can’t have a Slytherin champion!”

“I don’t know,” Chrys said. “There has to be _someone_ in Slytherin who could manage it. I don’t know any of the older Slytherins. Malfoy gets decent grades, but he’s a coward.”

Harry shuddered. “Definitely not Malfoy.”

“All the Hufflepuffs are talking about Diggory,” Seamus said, annoyed. “But I wouldn’t have thought he’d have wanted to risk his good looks.” Chrys smirked.

“Jealous cause he’s got so many girls swooning over him, Seamus?”

Dean laughed. “I am not—” Seamus started to protest.

“Listen!” Hermione said suddenly. People were cheering in the Entrance Hall. The doors opened and Angelina Johnson came in. Hermione waved her over. Angelina sat next to them, grinning a little sheepishly.

“Well, I’ve done it! Just put my name in!”

“You’re kidding,” Ron said, impressed.

“Are you seventeen, then?” Harry asked.

“Course she is, can’t see a beard, can you?” Ron pointed out. Chrys snickered.

“I had my birthday last week,” Angelina told them.

“Well, I’m glad someone from Gryffindor’s entering,” Hermione said. “I really hope you get it, Angelina!”

“Thanks, Hermione.” Angelina smiled.

“Yeah, better you than Pretty-Boy Diggory,” Seamus said. A couple of passing Hufflepuffs glared at him. Chrys privately thought Angelina was just as pretty as Diggory, though she knew that was beside the point.

“What’re we going to do today, then?” Ron said as they left the Great Hall.

“We haven’t been down to visit Hagrid yet,” Harry thought.

“Okay. Just as long as he doesn’t ask us to donate a few fingers to the skrewts,” Ron said.

Chrys laughed nervously. Hermione grabbed her arm.

“Oh! I’ve just realized—Chrys—we haven’t asked Hagrid to join H.E.R.S. yet!”

“Er, that’s right,” Chrys said.

Hermione beamed. “Wait for me, will you, while I nip upstairs and get the badges?”

She ran up the stairs. Ron sighed. “What is it with her?”

“She… means well,” Chrys said awkwardly. Hermione’s over-enthusiastic nature had scared away many potential group-members, and many uninterested students had signed up just to shut her up.

Even the few people who had been both unafraid of Hermione, and interested in elf-rights, were a bit put off by their how unorganized the group was. Their policies were all over the place. To be fair, Chrys could be doing more to help, but she just didn’t have the head for organizing things on such a large scale. She never planed so far ahead for herself, much less for countless house-elves whom she’d never even met before.

“Hey, Ron,” Harry said. “It’s your friend…” The Beauxbatons students were coming through the front doors. The crowd around the Goblet of Fire parted to let them through.

Madame Maxime organized them into a line, and one by one they stepped over the line and dropped their slips of parchment into the cup. When each slip entered the blue flames, they briefly flashed red.

“What d’you reckon’ll happen to the ones who aren’t chosen?” Ron whispered, watching the veela-girl drop her paper in. “Reckon they’ll go back to school, or hang around to watch the tournament?”

“Dunno,” Harry said. “Hang around, I suppose… Madame Maxime’s staying to judge, isn’t she?” Chrys nodded, still watching the girl. The veela-girl’s charm didn’t seem as powerful today. She was still extremely pretty—Chrys would love to draw her—but Chrys didn’t feel all floaty in her stomach like she did last night.

“Where are they sleeping, then?” Ron wondered after they finished and headed out again. They heard a rattling noise and turned to see Hermione running down the stairs with the box of badges.

“How many do you expect him to buy?” Chrys asked, a little amused and a little worried.

“Hurry up,” Ron said, hurrying through the doors. He watched the Beauxbatons students move across the lawn.

The quartet followed a similar path down to Hagrid’s hut. The students were climbing back into the blue carriage, which was parked nearby.

“Ooh.” Chrys said. “Let’s go look at the horses!” They were paddocked near the carriage. She started to move towards them, but Harry and Hermione seized her by her arms.

“I don’t think it’s safe,” Hermione said, eyeing them warily. Chrys frowned.

“Maybe Hagrid could go with us later?” Harry suggested.

“…All right,” Chrys relented. Hermione let out a breath of relief. Ron grinned slightly.

Harry knocked on Hagrid’s door.

It flung open. “’Bout time!” Hagrid said. “Thought you lot’d forgotten where I live!”

“We’ve been really busy, Hag—” Hermione started to say. Her eyes widened. They stared.

Hagrid was wearing the same hairy brown suit and checkered yellow tie he’d worn to Buckbeak’s trial last year. His hair was greased back (by what smelled like axel grease) and parted in the middle.

“Well, aren’t you… dressed up,” Chrys said.

“Ah…” Hagrid flushed slightly. “Suppose I am…” There was an awkward pause.

“Um—where are the skrewts?” Hermione asked.

“Out by the pumpkin patch,” Hagrid said quickly. “They’re getting’ massive, mus’ be nearly three foot long now. On’y trouble is, they’ve started killin’ each other.” Ron was still staring at Hagrid’s hair. He opened his mouth.

“Oh no, really?” Hermione said vaguely, giving Ron a strong look.

“Yeah,” Hagrid said solemnly. “’S okay though, I’ve got ‘em in separate boxes now. Still got ‘bout twenty.”

“Well, that’s lucky,” Ron said blankly.

They sat down at the table, talking about the Triwizard Tournament as Hagrid made tea.

“You wait.” He grinned. “You jus’ wait. Yer going ter see some stuff yeh’ve never seen before. Firs’ task—jus’ you wait, Chrys… ah, but I’m not supposed ter say.”

“Go on, Hagrid!” Harry urged him. Hagrid shook his head, still grinning.

“I don’ want ter spoil it fer yeh. But it’s gonna be spectacular, I’ll tell yeh that. Them champions’re going ter have their work cut out. Never thought I’d live ter see the Triwizard Tournament played again!”

Hagrid put out some kind of meat casserole for lunch. Harry and Hermione pushed it around their plates, but Ron and Chrys were hungry enough to brave a couple of bites—they stopped immediately when Hermione uncovered a talon in hers.

Still, Ron recovered quickly enough.

“Wonder if Fred and George are beardless yet?” He said brightly. Chrys grinned.

“Where’s Colin when you need him, eh?”

By the time evening came around, light rain pattered on the windowpanes. Hagrid lit a fire in the hearth and then started darning some of his socks as Hermione launched into one of her H.E.R.S. speeches. Hagrid frowned.

“It’d be doin’ ‘em an unkindness, Hermione,” he said seriously. “It’s in their nature ter look after humans, that’s what they like, see? Yeh’d be makin’ ‘em unhappy ter take away their work, an’ insultin’ ‘em if yeh tried ter pay ‘em.”

“But Harry set Dobby free, and he was over the moon about it!” Hermione argued. “ _And_ we heard he’s asking for wages now!”

“Yeah, well, yeh get weirdos in every breed,” Hagrid said. Chrys frowned slightly. “I’m not sayin’ there isn’t the odd elf who’d take freedom, but yeh’ll never persuade most of ‘em ter do it—no, nothin’ doin’, Hermione.” Hermione huffed and hugged the box against her chest.

She glared at Chrys. “And you’ve been awfully quiet!” She snapped.

“Um… well… I just think—I’m not really comfortable speaking for the house-elves, Hermione. Cause, well, I’m not a house-elf.”

Hermione frowned and opened her mouth.

“Oh, look at the time!” Harry said, looking at his watch and jumping to his feet.

“It is getting a bit dark out,” Ron agreed. “Why don’t we head back up?”

“Fine,” Hermione grumbled.

“I’ll come with yeh,” Hagrid said, putting away his giant sock. “Jus’ give me a sec.” He pulled open a drawer and shuffled through it. Chrys watched him take out what looked like a bottle of perfume and spray some of it on himself.

The four of them started coughing.

“Hagrid, what’s that?” Ron choked.

“Eh?” Hagrid put the bottle away. “Don’ yeh like it?”

“Is that… aftershave?” Hermione asked in a strangled voice.

“Er—eau de cologne.” He was blushing again. “Maybe it’s a bit much.”

“Just a bit,” Chrys said, her eyes watering.

“I’ll go take it off, hang on…” He stepped out of his house and turned the tap on the water barrel, washing vigorously.

“Eau de colgne?” Hermione repeated, astonished. “ _Hagrid?_ ”

“And what’s with the hair and the suit?” Harry said quietly.

“Look!” Ron pointed out the window. Hagrid had just popped up straight like a Jack-in-the-Box. His face went even redder as he talked to Madame Maxime. The Beauxbatons students waited politely behind her. After a moment they started walking, the Beauxbatons students jogging to keep up with their long strides.

“He’s going to the castle with her!” Hermione said indignantly. “I thought he was waiting for us!”

“He fancies her!” Ron realized.

“Well… good for him, I guess?” Chrys said uncertainly.

“If they end up having children, they’ll be setting a world record,” Ron figured. “Bet any baby of theirs would weight about a ton.”

“They just met. Probably a bit early to be thinking about kids,” Chrys thought as they stepped outside. They started towards the castle.

“Ooh, it’s them,” Hermione said. “Look!” The Durmstrang students were also heading up. Krum and Karkaroff were at the front of the group. Ron stared after them, frozen.

“Come on,” Chrys said, pulling his arm.

When they got to the Great Hall, it was almost full. The Goblet of Fire was now sitting on the table in front of Dumbledore’s seat.

“I see you’ve shaved,” Chrys said, sitting across from Fred and George. Lee laughed.

“Actually, I thought we looked quite dashing,” George said, stroking his smooth chin. “But Madame Pomfrey made us get rid of them.” Ron snorted.

“You can always ask Dumbledore to bring it back,” Chrys teased.

“I wonder where he is,” Hermione said, staring at his empty seat. “I really want to know who our champion will be—it’s very exciting, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Fred grinned. “Hope it’s Angelina.” George smiled slightly.

“So do I!” Hermione said. “Well, we’ll soon know!”

By the time the plates were cleared, the students were a buzz of excited murmurs.

Dumbledore stood and the hall quieted.

“Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” he told them. Chrys stared at the fiery cup. “I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions’ names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber—“ He gestured at the door behind his table. “—Where they will be receiving their first instructions.”

He waved his wand, and the candles except those inside the pumpkins went out. The small orange lights were dim against the blazing blue of the Goblet of Fire. Harry shielded his eyes with his hand.

“Any second,” Lee whispered.

The flames flickered red and sparks flew out of the cup. A piece of slightly singed parchment flew out. The crowd gasped as Dumbledore caught it. He held it out to read it in the light of the flames, which were blue again.

“The champion for Durmstrang… will be Viktor Krum.”

“No surprises there!” Ron said as everyone applauded enthusiastically. Krum stood up and moved through the door behind the staff table.

“Bravo, Viktor!” Karkaroff cheered. “Knew you had it in you!”

The flames flickered red again, and the crowd hushed.

Dumbledore caught the second piece of paper.

“The champion for Beauxbatons… is Fleur Delacour!”

“It’s her, Ron!” Harry shouted, as the veela-girl stood.

“Oh look, they’re all disappointed,” Hermione said, watching the other Beauxbatons students. Two of them were crying.

Almost as soon as Fleur Delacour stepped through the door, the flames went red again.

Dumbledore held up the third piece of parchment.

“The Hogwarts champion… is Cedric Diggory!”

“No!” Ron groaned. But nearly everyone else, including Chrys, was cheering. The Hufflepuffs cheered the loudest, stomping their feet as Cedric walked up to the staff table.

Dumbledore waited politely until the cheers had died down.

“Excellent! Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give you champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on you will contribute to a very real—” He stopped suddenly as the flames turned red again. Dumbledore snatched up a _fourth_ piece of parchment. He stared at it for a long time. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Harry Potter.”


	15. Of Jealousy and Disbelief

Chrys turned to her brother. His eyes were wide. His mouth was slightly agape. Any thought that he might have somehow gotten past the age line without telling her left her head.

All around them students began muttering angrily to each other. Chrys gripped Harry's shoulder. He shook himself, as if waking from a dream.

Professor McGonagall stood up and walked over to say something in Dumbledore’s ear. Harry turned to Chrys, still looking bewildered.

“I didn’t put my name in,” he said stiffly. “You know I didn’t.”

“Of course,” she said. He let out a breath. Then he turned to Ron and Hermione, who were sitting very, very still.

Dumbledore nodded at Professor McGonagall.

“Harry Potter!” He called out again. “Harry! Up here, if you please!”

“Go on.” Hermione gave Harry a slight push. Chrys reluctantly let go of him as he stood, nearly tripping on his robes. Everyone stared as he walked up the hall.

Finally, Harry stopped in front of Dumbledore.

“Well… through the door, Harry,” Dumbledore said. The usual twinkle in his eye was painfully not present.

As soon as Harry stepped through the door behind the staff table, Karkaroff, Maxime, Crouch, and Bagman surrounded Dumbledore. He talked to them for a moment, and then motioned them, and Snape and McGonagall through the door.

It closed, and the hall burst out into frantic conversation.

“Well, now!” Professor Flitwick said, his voice magically projected over the bustle. “I’m sure we will get this all sorted out in no time!” He didn’t sound so certain. “Meanwhile, it is getting late, and all Hogwarts students should head off to bed. If the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students would please wait for Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff out in the entrance hall…” People reluctantly started getting to their feet and heading to the doors. “Very good, very good…”

Out in the entrance hall, Chrys was ambushed from every side.

“How’d he do it?” One of Padma’s dorm mates wanted to know.

“How come you didn’t enter as well?” Colin asked eagerly.

“Look—” Chrys tried.

“How could he?” Lily Moon, a Hufflepuff Chrys vaguely recognized from Herbology said. She looked about ready to cry.

“It’s not right!” Justin Finch-Fletchly said. “He’s underage, and Cedric’s worked so hard—”

 _“_ _Sonorus_ _!”_ Padma said, pointing her wand at Chrys.

“Look!” Chrys said again, her voice projecting over them. Now everyone was looking at her, including the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students further down the hall. “Harry didn’t put his name in the Goblet—all right?” Looking around, Chrys saw faces full of disbelief. “So… leave off and go to bed like Professor Flitwick told us to.” The students grumbled, but most of them left. Chrys saw Ginny dragging both Colin and Dennis away. Padma pointed her wand at Chrys again.

“ _Quietus_!”

“Thanks, Padma,” Chrys said tiredly.

“No problem.” Padma studied her for a moment. “Let me know if I can do anything else for you.” Chrys smiled slightly.

“Thanks, really, you’re great.”

Padma nodded and headed upstairs.

Chrys was left standing in the entrance hall with Ron and Hermione.

“So…” Ron said slowly. “It’s just us now. How’d he do it, really?”

Chrys frowned. “Ron, I told you, he didn’t do it. He wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Why not?” Ron wondered. “It’s not like he’s been real fussed with the rules before now.”

“I mean, he wouldn’t do something like that without telling us first,” she elaborated.

“Would he, though?” Ron raised his eyebrows. “Maybe whatever he used to get over the line only worked on one person, so he didn’t want to tell us.”

“Ron...” Hermione said hesitantly.

Ron shrugged. “Whatever. I’m going upstairs. Fred and George are probably putting together a party. I could do with a butterbeer.” He stomped halfway up and then turned. “You coming?”

“I’m waiting for Harry,” Chrys said, thinking this should be obvious. Hermione hesitated, looking from one to the other. Chrys smiled tensely. “Go on, Hermione. Enjoy your butterbeer.”

Chrys felt like she waited forever with the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students sending suspicious glances her way, lingering on her forehead… but it can’t have been that much later when Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff came out with their champions. The four of them barely spared Chrys a glance as they swept out of the castle with the rest of their people. A moment later, Harry and Cedric came out.

“So…” Cedric said to Harry. “Tell me… how _did_ you get your name in?”

Harry stared at him. “I didn’t. I didn’t put it in. I was telling the truth.”

“Ah… okay,” Cedric said disbelievingly. “Well… see you then.” He turned, spotted Chrys and froze.

"Congrats," Chrys said, trying to sound as sincere as possible. He gave her a curt nod and a distracted smile before heading through a door to the right of the stairs.

“Are you all right?” Chrys asked, gripping Harry’s arms. He made a noncommittal noise. “So, what now?”

“Now… Now I have to compete.” Harry ran his hand through his hair. “It’s a magical contract thing—once your name comes out of the Goblet, you have to compete.”

“Damn,” Chrys muttered, her brow furrowing. They started up the stairs. “How furious were they?”

Harry grimaced. “Madame Maxime and Professor Karakaroff were about as sympathetic as Snape was—I’m sure you can imagine. The veela-girl—Fleur, she was really put off, called me a _little boy_.”

Chrys snorted at his impression of her accent. “And Dumbledore?”

“Dumbledore… I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with him sometimes,” Harry admitted. Chrys nodded. “But, at least he believed me, I think. Meanwhile, Moody thinks…” He paused.

Chrys frowned. “Moody thinks what?”

“Well…” Harry stopped short as they came up to the portrait of the Fat Lady. She had a guest, an older witch was siting in the painting next to her, and they both were eyeing Harry with interest.

“Well, well, well,” the Fat Lady said. “Violet’s just told me everything. Who’s just been chosen as school champion, then?”

“Balderdash,” Harry said.

“It most certainly isn’t!” Violet said.

“No, no, Vi, it’s the password,” the Fat Lady explained as she swung open.

Harry and Chrys stepped into the Common Room. The cheers that erupted were so loud that they almost fell back out onto the landing.

“You should’ve told us you’d entered,” Fred shouted, sounding both annoyed and impressed. Chrys frowned. Was no one going to believe Harry?

“How did you do it without getting a beard?” George wondered. “Brilliant!”

“I didn’t,” Harry tried. “I don’t know how—” Angelina swooped him up into a hug.

“Oh if it couldn’t be me, at least it’s a Gryffindor!”

“You’ll be able to pay back Diggory for the last Quidditch match, Harry!” Katie Bell, another chaser on the team said.

“We’ve got food, Harry,” George said. “Come and have some—”

“I’m not hungry, I had enough at the feast—” Harry groaned as Lee draped a Gryffindor banner around Harry’s shoulders. George shoved a butterbeer in his hand, Alicia, the third chaser, held out a bowl of crisps…

Eventually Chrys borrowed some Filibuster’s Fabulous Wet-Start, No Heat Fireworks off of Lee, and set them off in the middle of the common room. Harry shot her a grateful look and then snuck up the stairs to his dorm while everyone was distracted.

They were disappointed when they realized Harry was gone, but figured it was time to go to bed anyway, as normal lessons started up again tomorrow.

Chrys caught Hermione’s eye and the two of them hung back. Chrys shoved some empty butter beer bottles off of the couch and sunk onto it, sighing.

“Where’s Ron?” She muttered, her eyes closed.

“He went up to bed a while ago, I think.”

“Hmm…” Chrys frowned. “He doesn’t believe Harry.”

“Well…” Hermione said hesitantly. “I think it’s rather more complicated than that.”

Chrys opened her eyes. “Do you believe him?”

“Yes,” Hermione said without hesitation. Chrys smiled weakly.

“Finally some good news tonight.”

The next morning, Chrys and Hermione went down to breakfast very early. They weren’t entirely surprised to see Ron there. He stiffened when he saw them.

“Er… hi,” he said awkwardly. Chrys raised an eyebrow at him. “Listen, Chrys—I wanted to tell you—I believe you.” A bubble of hope grew inside her. “I figure you didn’t know Harry was going to enter the Tournament either.” The bubble burst.

She glared. “Oh really? Well, only the person who entered him could’ve known that.”

He glared back. “Yeah, so him.”

“Ron, assuming Harry even wanted to join, and he somehow managed to get past Dumbledore’s age line—he would have told you,” she said. “You’re his best friend.”

“Yeah, well, I thought I was,” Ron grumbled. Chrys groaned.

“You’re being stupid—”

“Save it,” Ron said. “Don’t bother, Harry’s already said that.”

“Good for him, then!” Chrys snapped. She grabbed a few slices of toast, wrapped them in a napkin, and left. Hermione sighed and followed her.

“We could have at least _tried_ to explain—”

“You try,” Chrys said. “I’ll just end up making it worse than it already is. Anyway, it’s not me he needs to talk to…” Her feet automatically led her back upstairs to the common room. The portrait hole opened to reveal Harry. “Good, you’re up.” Chrys grabbed his arm. “We’re going for a walk.”

Harry didn’t protest.

They walked around the lake at a brisk pace, trying to stave off the chill as Harry told them, “Moody said a student couldn’t have done it, cause it would’ve taken powerful magic.”

“But why go through all that effort to enter you? What do they—whoever-it-is get out of it?” Chrys wondered. Harry hesitated. “Harry, what?”

“It’s a dangerous tournament. Moody thinks whoever did it is hoping I’ll get myself killed.”

Hermione gasped.

“Well, we know one person who’d like to see you dead!” Chrys said, chewing her toast angrily. Harry nodded slowly.

“But it’s not as if You-Know-Who himself could just stroll into Hogwarts and put your name in the goblet,” Hermione figured.

“Quirrell,” Chrys pointed out. Voldemort had effectively been strolling around Hogwarts when he was sharing a body with their first year DADA teacher.

“Well, alright,” Hermione said. “So, maybe whoever did it is working with You-Know-Who, but we don’t have much proof one way or another.” Harry stared at her. “What?”

“You believe me?” Harry asked. “You don’t think I entered myself?”

“Well, of course I knew you hadn’t entered yourself,” she said. He let out a breath of relief. “That look on your face when Dumbledore read out your name!” Chrys nodded. “But the question is, who _did_ put it in? Because Moody’s right, Harry… I don’t think any student could have done it… they’d never be able to control the Goblet, or get over Dumbledore’s—”

“Have you seen Ron?” Harry asked them. Chrys nearly choked on her toast. Harry thumped her on the back and looked expectantly at Hermione.

“Er, yes, we saw him at breakfast,” she said.

“Does he still think I entered myself?”

“Well… no, I don’t think so… not _really_.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, not _really_?”

“Oh Harry, isn’t it obvious?” Hermione said tiredly. “He’s jealous!”

“ _Jealous_?” Harry frowned at her. “Jealous of what? He wants to make a prat of himself in front of the whole school, does he?”

“You don’t know that you’ll make a prat of yourself,” Chrys commented. He continued frowning at Hermione.

“Look,” she said. “It’s always you who gets all the attention, you know it is. Even Chrys is overshadowed some—” He glowered and opened his mouth. “—I know it’s not your fault! I know you don’t ask for it… but—well—you know, Ron’s got all those brothers to compete against at home, and you’re his best friend, and you’re really famous—he’s always shunted to one side whenever people see you, and he puts up with it, and he never mentions it, but I suppose this is just one time too many…”

“Great,” Harry grumbled. “Really great. Tell him from me I’ll swap any time he wants. Tell him he’s welcome to it… people gawping at my forehead everywhere I go…”

“I’m not telling him anything,” Hermione said firmly. “Tell him yourself. It’s the only way to sort this out.”

“I’m not running around after him trying to make him grow up!” Harry shouted. Several owls flew up from a nearby tree. “Maybe he’ll believe I’m not enjoying myself once I’ve got my neck broken or—”

“Don’t,” Chrys said sharply. “Don’t, Harry. I’d be worried enough if you _had_ joined the Tournament by choice, but now that someone’s gone and _forced_ you into it…”

“It’s not funny,” Hermione agreed. “Not funny at all.” She bit her nails, staring out at the Durmstrang ship on the lake. “Harry, I’ve been thinking—we still have a bit of time left before class—you know what we’ve got to do, don’t you? Straight away, the moment we get back to the castle?”

“Yeah, give Ron a good kick up the—”

“Write to Sirius,” Hermione said. “You’ve got to tell him what’s happened. He asked you to keep him posted on everything that’s going on at Hogwarts… It’s almost as if he expected something like this to happen. I’m sure Chrys has some parchment and a quill on her—”

Harry looked around nervously for a moment at the mention of Sirius, but there was no one nearby. “Come off it,” he said. “He came back to the country just because my scar twinged. He’ll probably come bursting right into the castle if I tell him someone’s entered me into the Triwizard Tournament—”

“He’d want you to tell him,” Hermione insisted. “He’s going to find out anyway—”

“How?”

“Harry, this isn’t going to be kept quiet,” Hermione said. “This tournament’s famous, and you’re famous. I’ll be really surprised if there isn’t anything in the _Daily Prophet_ about you competing… You’re already in half the books about You-Know-Who, you know.”

Chrys laughed.

“Yeah, she’s shown me some of those. We either come off as adorable heroic babies, or Voldemort’s successors to the Dark Arts.”

Harry snorted. Hermione flinched at the name.

“Anyway,” she continued. “Sirius would rather hear it from you, Harry.”

Chrys nodded. “I know I would.”

“Okay, okay,” Harry relented. “I’ll write to him… and Chrys, you’d better write to Lupin too, see if he has any tips on how to deal with the kind of stuff I might face in this stupid tournament.”

“Got it,” Chrys said, pulling some parchment and quills out of her pocket. “Oh, these are self-inking in color—which do you want, blue or green?”

Harry shrugged, throwing his last piece of toast at the water. A single tentacle rose up and snatched it under the surface. “Surprise me.”

“And remember,” Hermione said as they walked up the stairs. “He told you not to use Hedwig again. Maybe you can ask Ron if you can borrow—”

“I’m not asking Ron for anything,” Harry said. “I’ll borrow a school owl.”

Hermione sighed.

Up in the Owlery, Hermione looked around at the different owls while Harry and Chrys leaned against the wall to write their letters.

_Dear Remus,_

_Another letter so soon—shocking, I know. This is serious, though. As you may have heard by now, depending on when this reaches you, Harry is participating in the Triwizard Tournament as a second Hogwarts champion. Before you ask, no, he did not enter himself, someone else decided to do that for him. We don’t know who, or why, but we’re leaning towards the idea that it was someone sinister, looking to accomplish their sinister deeds. _

_Unfortunately, Harry doesn’t have a choice, as once your name comes out of the Goblet you are magically under contract to go through with it—bit stupid, if you ask me._

_Anyway, Harry asked me to ask you if you have any tips on what he might face in this kind of Tournament._

_Hoping to hear from you soon._

_Love,_

_Chrys_

She looked up and met Harry’s eyes. He nodded. They stood up.

“Finished,” he told Hermione. At that, Hedwig flew over and landed on his shoulder, sticking out her leg.

“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, pretty bird,” Chrys said, stroking her before tying her letter to her leg. Hedwig hooted.

“Don’t hold it against me, all right?” Harry said. “I couldn’t handle it if both you and Ron were…” He trailed off, reaching out to her. She nipped his fingers lightly, blinking up at him with reassurance in her eyes. He smiled weakly.

Chrys would’ve been fine with missing History of Magic, but they were with Hermione, so they hurried to make it to class before the bell rang. Harry automatically went to sit at his usual desk with Ron at the back, and then stopped short. Ron was sitting towards the middle with Neville. Harry made a face and sat at the empty desk behind Chrys and Hermione. Ron didn’t even glance his way.

The rest of the Gryffindors kept giving Harry small smiles, which made Harry groan and attempt to hide his face behind Hermione’s hair.

In Charms Harry was so distracted that he reversed the Summoning Charm they were supposed to be practicing, and sent poor Professor Flitwick smacking into the wall.

Flitwick insisted that he was fine, and this sort of thing happened, but he did end up giving Harry extra homework.

Later, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing outside the potions classroom.

“Ah, look, boys, it’s the champion,” Malfoy said to his boys. “Got your autograph books? Better get a signature now, because I doubt he’d going to be around much longer. Half of the Triwizard champions have died…” Chrys scowled. “How long d’you reckon you’re going to last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task’s my bet.” Crabbe and Goyle laughed on cue. Malfoy opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped short as Snape opened the door.

Ron sat with Neville again, so Chrys and Hermione pulled another desk over next to theirs so Harry could work on studying antidotes them.

Snape said nothing to Harry throughout the lesson, though his glare might have been a bit extra sharp.

Double Herbology was extremely awkward with the Hufflepuffs giving the Gryffindors the cold shoulder.

“They’re only jealous because Harry’s going to do loads better than Diggory,” Seamus thought. Wayne Hopkins, who played Quidditch on the Hufflepuff team with Cedric, narrowed his eyes at Seamus. Dean gulped. Hopkins was built like a house.

“You’re not helping,” Chrys muttered to Seamus.

In Care of Magical Creatures, before Malfoy could start on Harry again, Hagrid provided an excellent distraction by announcing that they were going to be taking the skrewts out on a walk, to try and use up some of that murderous energy they had been otherwise using by, well, killing each other.

“Take this thing for a walk?” Malfoy eyed one of the crates warily. “And where exactly are we supposed to fix the leash? Around the sting, the blasting end, or the sucker?”

“’Round the middle.” Hagrid very bravely grabbed one of the skrewts out of its box. They had grown hard shells recently—and now looked a bit like giant grey scorpions. Hagrid demonstrated looping a strong rope around its middle. The skrewt blasted off, but Hagrid kept hold of the rope. He passed the end to Chrys as he patted the sparks out of his beard. “Er-yeh might want ter put on yer dragon-hide gloves, jus’ as an extra precaution, like.” Chrys barely heard him. She and the skrewt were sizing each other up, and Chrys felt she was coming up short. “Harry—you come here an’ help me with this big one…”

“Er…” Harry looked worriedly at Chrys. ‘ _Don’t leave me_ ,’ she tried to communicate silently to him. “Yeah, all right.” He shot her an apologetic look and went off to the side with Hagrid.

The skrewt at the end of her leash suddenly decided to make a run for it. Chrys was jerked off her feet and dragged over the grass.

“Oh—oh dear!” She heard Hermione say.


	16. Of Studying and Stunningly Pretty

“Hufflepuff, I can understand,” Harry said, as they ate outside in the cold air again. “Even if I don’t like it… Slytherin, that’s to be expected, but Ravenclaw… I don’t know what their problem is. Maybe Diggory just makes a better champion than me. I mean, he’s definitely got the looks—you know, I saw that group of girls who were trying to get Krum’s autograph looking to get Diggory’s the other day.”

“Padma says the general consensus in her common room is that you’re an attention-seeking brat,” Chrys told him.

“Great.” Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

“Come on,” Hermione said, glancing at her watch. “It’s almost time for Charms… how is your Summoning Charm going, Harry?”

“Great,” he said, in the same tone.

By the end of the lesson, it was apparent that the extra homework from last week hadn’t helped. Even Neville, who had also been assigned extra work, had done better than him.

“It’s really not that difficult, Harry,” Hermione said as they headed down to the dungeons. Harry shot her a look. Professor Flitwick had pronounced her Summoning Charm to be the best he’d seen in years. “You just weren’t concentrating properly—”

“Wonder why that was,” Harry said, watching Cedric walk past, followed by a pack of giggling girls. They spotted Harry and turned their noses up at him before walking faster. “Still—never mind, eh? Double Potions to look forward to…”

Harry stared at the Slytherins waiting outside the Potions classroom. They were all wearing badges that said: ‘ _Support Cedric Diggory—the REAL Hogwarts Champion!’_ in glowing red letters.

“Like them, Potter?” Malfoy asked loudly. “And this isn’t all they do—look!” He pressed the badge and the message swirled, the red letters were replaced with green ones that said: _‘Potter Stinks.’_ The Slytherins laughed and all pressed their badges too.

Harry flushed. “Oh, _very_ funny,” Hermione said to Pansy Parkinson. Malfoy’s female version usually got under her skin more easily than he did. Well, the laughter of teenage girls did cut more deeply than nearly any other sort. “Really _witty_.”

Chrys glanced at Ron, who was standing by the wall with Dean and Seamus. Dean and Seamus looked a bit annoyed. Ron would usually be furious by now, but he was completely blank faced at the moment.

“Want one, Granger?” Malfoy held one out to her. “I’ve got loads. But don’t touch my hand, now. I’ve just washed it, you see—don’t want a mudblood sliming it up.”

Chrys growled. Harry took out his wand. The Slytherins around Malfoy quickly got out of the way. “Harry!” Hermione warned.

“Go on, then, Potter,” Malfoy said unhelpfully. He drew his wand too. Chrys reached her hand into her pocket, gripping her wand hesitantly. “Moody’s not here to look after you now—do it, if you’ve got the guts.” They stared at each other.

“ _Furnunculus!”_ Harry shouted, at the same time as Malfoy shouted, “ _Densaugeo!”_

Light burst out of their wands, hit in midair, and bounced off of each other. One blast hit Goyle, and the other hit—

“Hermione!” Ron cried out, running to her. Hermione’s eyes widened. She clamped her hands over her mouth. “What’s wrong? Come on, let me see…” He pulled her hands away. Hermione’s front teeth were growing past her bottom lip towards her chin. She touched them and shrieked.

“And what is all this noise about?” Snape asked. Several Slytherins tried to answer him at the same time.

“Well Malfoy—”

“Potter just—”

“And then Granger—”

Snape pointed at Malfoy. “Explain.”

“Potter attacked me, sir—”

“We attacked each other at the same time!” Harry corrected angrily.

“—And he hit Goyle—look—” Malfoy pointed at Goyle, whose face was very red and covered in boils. Snape examined him.

“Hospital wing, Goyle,” he said calmly. Goyle ran off.

“Malfoy got Hermione!” Ron added. “ _Look!”_ He pulled Hermione’s hands away again. Her teeth had now grown past her shirt collar. The Slytherin girls were giggling behind Snape’s back, pointing at her. Snape looked her over for a moment.

“I see no difference,” he said emotionlessly.

Hermione burst into tears and ran down the corridor. Chrys shot him a furious look and then ran after her. Harry and Ron were shouting insults at Snape, their voices echoing down the hall.

Chrys was glad she had kept up her running with Ginny, though it was disappointing that Harry hadn’t joined them after that one attempt. It was kind of funny when Ginny had gotten distracted and ran into a tree…

Anyway, she caught up to Hermione before they were even out of the dungeons, and they jogged over to the Hospital Wing together.

Madame Pomfrey was brilliant, as always.

“Densaugeo?” She asked the moment she saw Hermione. Hermione nodded, wincing as her teeth poked against her chest. “ _Accio!”_ A hand mirror flew over and Madame Pomfrey caught it. “Sit down and hold this, Miss Granger.” Hermione sat on a bed and held the mirror. “Now, look into the mirror and stop me when your teeth are back to normal, understand?” Hermione nodded again. Madame Pomfrey pointed her wand at Hermione. “ _Dens_ _minorem!”_ Chrys watched as Hermione’s front teeth began to shrink. Her front teeth had always been a bit larger than ‘normal.’ Chrys thought she looked like an adorable rabbit, but both of Hermione’s parents were dentists, and had insisted on her continuing wearing her retainer every night... so Chrys wasn’t entirely surprised when Hermione let Madame Pomfrey shrink her teeth smaller than they had been to begin with.

“Now! That’s good,” Hermione said hurriedly.

 _“Finite_ _Incantatem_ _!”_ Madame Pomfrey tucked away her wand. Then she glanced at the large grandfather clock in the corner of the room. “Ah, you’ve just missed lunch. I’ll have something sent up here, shall I?”

Hermione frowned. “By house-elves?”

Madame Pomfrey raised her eyebrows. “Certainly, Miss Granger, unless you would like me to put a hold on restocking my cabinet and go down to the kitchens to cook you something myself?”

“No, no,” Hermione said, waving her hands. “Thank you, Madame Pomfrey.”

“Good.” Madame Pomfrey nodded and walked back over to her office. “Densaugeo, honestly...” She shook her head. “Who uses such outdated curses in this day and age?”

Chrys laughed slightly, wondering what Malfoy would think of that comment.

Hermione and Chrys ate alone in the Hospital Wing, Hermione worrying about them being behind on their antidote studying now.

“Oh honestly, Chrys, it was good of you to come with me, but you should have stayed in class and taken notes—”

“Not likely!” Chrys said. “I don’t think I’d be able to keep myself calm sitting in the same room as that horrible excuse for a teacher—really, I don’t know what Dumbledore was thinking of, hiring him!”

“I’m... I’m sure he had his reasons,” Hermione said uncertainly.

“And anyway... I had to make sure you were all right,” Chrys added. Hermione smiled, her teeth very even. Chrys smirked. “Oh, but what are your parents going to say when they see you?” Hermione’s eyes widened. Her cheeks flushed darker.

“Ah! Well...” She shuffled uncomfortably on her seat in the bed. “I’m sure they’ll understand if I explain it was an accident...”

“I’m sure they will, Hermione,” Chrys said quickly. “I was only teasing.”

They sat in silence for a moment, munching on their sandwiches.

“It was nice to see that Ron still cares,” Hermione said casually. Chrys frowned.

“Of course he cares about you.”

Hermione hummed uncertainly. “I thought... I thought he might be angry with me for spending more time with Harry the past week than him...”

Chrys rolled her eyes. “Well, he is probably annoyed, because he’s Ron, but even if he was furious with you, he still wouldn’t stop caring about you. I mean, even with everything between him and Harry lately, I bet if Malfoy had managed to curse him, he’d react in the same way.”

“Oh.” Hermione stared down at her plate. “Oh, you think so?”

Chrys studied her for a moment. “Well... maybe not the same _exact_ way. I mean, his relationship with you is different than his relationship with Harry, after all. Isn’t it?”

“I should hope so,” Hermione said quietly.

In the corridor in front of History of Magic, Ron pulled Hermione aside to talk to her. Chrys smiled slightly.

Harry showed up just as the lesson started.

“What took you?” Chrys wondered as he sat down behind her and Hermione. Hermione shushed her.

“Tell you later,” he muttered.

“Got pulled out of Potions early,” he told them later during dinner. “There was some sort of Wand Weighing Ceremony for the champions, and then there were photos and interviews for the _Prophet_.” His nose wrinkled.

“Wand Weighing?” Chrys wondered.

“Where an expert studies the wands of the champions to make sure they are working properly,” Hermione told her. “Yours is working properly, isn’t it, Harry?”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded. “But guess who the reporter who was doing the interviews was?”

“Who?” Hermione and Chrys asked.

“That Rita Skeeter woman who wrote that article on Mr. Weasley.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “The _Daily Prophet_ has never been the creme de le creme of journalism, but I would have thought they’d send someone less... well, less rude, for this kind of thing.”

Chrys shrugged. “It’s entertainment, I guess.” She looked over Harry. “You all right?”

He shrugged. “Not looking forward to reading that article... but I’ll survive, probably...”

The next morning they loitered in a corner in the common room so he could tell them about the latest letter from Sirius, who wanted to meet them on the evening of the 19th in front of the Gryffindor common room fire at one in the morning.

“Well, the common room should be clear by then, but we should have a strategy in case there are any stragglers,” Hermione thought. Chrys nodded slowly.

“Well, I can always nick some Dungbombs off of Fred and George, and set them off at around half past twelve, but if Filch finds out I was behind it...”

“He’d skin you alive,” Harry finished for her.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make, but only as a last resort,” she said.

“Hey, Harry! Harry!” Colin said suddenly, running up to them. Harry stuffed Sirius’ letter into his bag.

“Yeah, Colin?”

“Did you see it?” Colin asked, waving a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ around. “Did you see it? They mentioned me— _me!_ ”

“Let me see that!” Hermione said, snatching it up.

“They called me your _close friend_ ,” Colin continued as Harry, Chrys, and Hermione stared at the giant photo of Harry on the front page. “I mean, that wasn’t what I said... I might have said _friend_ but not _close friend,_ because I didn’t want to overdo it, cause Chrys kept talking about _respecting boundaries_ last year, so I was trying to be respectful.”

“That’s very good, Colin,” Chrys said distractedly. Hermione had turned the page. The article was three pages long, and mostly about Harry—or, at least, some odd version of Harry that Skeeter had conjured up for the entertainment of her readers.

“Well, I’ve got a gobstones club meeting,” Colin said. “I just wanted to make sure you saw that article... I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Chrys waved as he headed back out of the portrait hole. “Later, Colin...” She pointed at a section of the paper. “Oh here he is. Ah, and Hermione’s in here as well...”

“What?” Harry frowned. “She didn’t have to drag you into this...” He snorted. “Oh. Apparently we’re in love, Hermione.”

“Yes, apparently...” She read through it. “Well, that all sounds very complimentary... but coming from her, it’s probably not.”

“I’m not sure it’s a compliment to be mistaken for Harry’s girlfriend,” Chrys said, grinning.

“Oh, not that bit, the bit about me being a _top student_ , and _stunningly pretty_ ,” Hermione clarified. “...Barely any information on the other champions. She’s spelled Krum and Delacour’s names wrong.” Hermione shook her head. “Honestly, she couldn’t be bothered to do some simple fact checking?”

“Clearly she’s not concerned with the facts, Hermione,” Chrys pointed out. “Unless you have been crying yourself to bed every night, Harry?”

“Definitely,” Harry said blankly. “That moaning you heard coming from the bathroom the other day? — That wasn’t Myrtle, it was me.” Chrys laughed. Harry’s brow furrowed. “And there’s absolutely no mention of Cedric...” He put the paper down, sighing. “Everyone’s going to be furious with me. They’ll think I put her up to this or something...”

Of course, the Slytherins _loved_ the article... in their own special way.

Malfoy seemed particularly offended that Harry had been called ‘one of the top students in the school.’ Pansy Parkinson was more offended that Hermione had been called ‘stunningly pretty.’

Hermione held her head high. “Ignore it,” she said to Harry as they walked past a group of snickering Slytherins. “Just ignore it, Harry.”

Harry looked over to Ron instead. Ron spotted him and turned on the spot, heading in the complete opposite direction.

Hermione rolled her eyes so hard Chrys was surprised they didn’t pop out of her head and continuing rolling along the floor...

Contrary to Hermione’s first insistence that she would not, Hermione had been running back and forth between Harry and Ron, trying to mend bridges. Those bridges seemed well-burned in Chrys’ opinion... not that she thought Harry and Ron would never be friends again, but it would certainly take more than Hermione insisting that they talk it out.

“I didn’t start this,” Harry grumbled as they settled down at their usual table in the library. They had been spending a lot of time in the library lately. Remus had sent several Advanced Defense books recommendations, so they had taken to studying those, along with the Summoning Charm, which Harry was still struggling with, for some reason. He was usually better at Charms than this. “It’s his problem.”

“You miss him!” Hermione said. “And I _know_ he misses you—”

“Miss him?” Harry repeated. “I don’t miss him...” Chrys and Hermione shared a look of disbelief. Then they heard the giggling.

“Oh, honestly!” Hermione threw her hands up. Krum had just walked by, trying to escape from a group of his admirers. “Honestly, I don’t know why he keeps trying to hide in here—they find him fairly quickly.”

“Well, it is a library, Hermione,” Chrys pointed out. “And he’s a champion, maybe he wants to study.”

“—He’s not even good-looking!” She continued. “They only like him because he’s famous! They wouldn’t look twice at him if he couldn’t do that Wonky-Faint thing—”

“Wronski Feint,” Harry corrected her through gritted teeth. Chrys tried not to laugh.


	17. Of Secret Meetings and Support

“Are you going on the Hogsmeade visit, Harry?” Hermione asked him the Saturday before the First Task. “It might do you good to get away from the castle for a bit.”

“Sure,” he said. “Not like you need to convince me…” He frowned. “What about Ron, though? Don’t you want to go with him?” Hermione flushed slightly.

“Oh… well… I thought we might meet up with him in the Three Broomsticks.”

“Ah, an ambush,” Chrys said knowingly.

“No—not an ambush!” Hermione denied. “I just thought you could talk over a few butter beers and—”

“No,” Harry said firmly.

Hermione sighed. “Oh Harry, this is so stupid—”

“I’ll come, but I’m not meeting with Ron, and I’m wearing my Invisibility Cloak.”

Chrys snorted. “You don’t think that’s overdoing it a bit, Harry?”

He glared at her. “Oh all right then!” Hermione snapped. “But I hate talking to you in that cloak, I never know if I’m looking at you or not…”

“Plus, you look sort of like you’re muttering to yourself,” Chrys added.

“Yes, Chrysanthemum, thank you for reminding me.”

“Just pretend you’re talking to Chrys,” Harry suggested.

Chrys nodded. “And if my voice sounds an awful lot like Harry’s, and is floating somewhere to my right, I’ll just say I’ve learned ventriloquism.”

A few people flashed their _Potter Sinks_ badges at Chrys as they walked down from the castle, but she and Hermione were much less amusing targets than Harry, so they were mostly left alone.

Hermione kept squinting at the air whenever Harry talked, trying to find him.

“Come _on_ , please just take your cloak off for a bit, no one’s going to bother you here.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry said. “Look behind you.”

Chrys watched as a woman in silky green robes stepped out of the Three Broomsticks. She was talking to a wizard holding a camera.

“Ah! Chrysanthemum Potter!” The woman said as she spotted her. She didn’t spare Hermione a glance. “I don’t think we’ve met—I’m Rita Skeeter.”

“…Hi.”

“Shy, are you?” Skeeter grinned like a crocodile. “There’s no need with me, I’m _quite_ a good listener, you know. It must be difficult—your brother getting so much attention when you aren’t—” She pulled a notebook and quill out of her pocketbook so fast they blurred. “—How do you feel about that?”

Chrys strode through the door without a word. She heard Skeeter scoff behind her.

“I think you’ve offended her,” Harry said in her ear.

“Yeah, well…” Chrys maneuvered around a couple of patrons at the bar as they looked for a seat. It was packed today. “She offended me first.” Harry chuckled. Chrys stumbled over something.

“Oi!” A wizard who smelled strongly of alcohol grunted. “Apologize when you step on someone’s foot, girl.” He stood up and took a step closer to her. Chrys tensed.

“Sorry.”

“What’s that?” The man grunted. “Can’t hear you!”

“Then maybe you should step outside and cool off!” A voice snapped. Chrys turned to see the landlady of the Three Broomsticks, Madam Rosmerta, standing near them with her hands on her hips. “Get out of my pub, Perkins—before I throw you out!” Perkins grumbled, but left. Rosmerta turned to Chrys. “Sorry about that, love—you alright?”

“I’m fine. Thanks, Madam Rosemerta.”

She smiled. “My pleasure.” She looked around at Chrys, and Hermione who was hovering awkwardly next to her. “Two butter beers?”

“Er, three, please,” Hermione said. “We’re… meeting someone.”

“Three butter beers, coming up,” Rosemerta said. “And I think there’s a table in the corner.”

Chrys and Hermione went over to the table where she pointed.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Hermione asked, concerned.

“I’m fine,” Chrys repeated. She wasn’t. Her heart was thumping for some reason.

“Well… if you’re sure, why don’t we take this time to go over our H.E.R.S. agenda?”

“Yeah, sure, Hermione.”

Hermione took out a notebook where she had been recording all of her research.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe I should try to get some of the villagers involved.” She looked around the room.

“Yeah, right,” Harry said. “Hermione—” He stopped as Rosemerta came over, placing the three butter beers at the table. Chrys paid. As soon as Rosemerta left again, Harry’s hand appeared out of thin air and picked up one of the hot butter beers, disappearing a moment later with it. “Hermione, I'm still not sure you're coming at this the right way."

“What do you mean?" Hermione said, eyeing him warily.

"Well... you're sort of..." The third butterbeer disappeared as Harry pulled it underneath the cloak. "...Scaring people away."

Hermione sniffed. "If they're scared, maybe they're not the type of people we want involved!"

"I guess..." Harry said uncertainly.

"Unfortunately, it's people who are scared, people like the school governors, people like Fudge, who have the power," Chrys reminded her. "I'm not saying you need to be best mates with them, but if you could get a few of them to at least hear you out..."

Hermione sighed. "I know. I know we need people like them to pass the policies I want to put through, but we're not even at that point yet. We need more traction, more support if we're going to bring these ideas to people in power. And for that we need a more detailed agenda, something more actionable..."

Chrys leaned her elbow on the table. “It would be easier if we could actually speak to some house-elves… wish I knew where the kitchens were.”

“Still working on Fred and George?” Harry wondered.

Chrys sighed. "They won’t tell budge. And I’ve checked the map—” The Marauders’ Map was a map their dad and his friends, Sirius, Remus, and Pettigrew, had developed of Hogwarts when they were back at school. It had been confiscated some time before they left, but Fred and George had found it years later, using it for a while before passing it on to Harry and Chrys last year, without even knowing of their connection to it. “—But it doesn’t show up, so I’m guessing it’s unplottable for some reason.”

“Hogwarts in general is supposed to be unplottable,” Hermione reminded her. “The Marauders were able to find a way around that, but not this room in particular. Which means the Kitchens are extra well protected. Have you asked Sirius or Professor Lupin about it?”

“I mentioned it, but he gave me a really vague answer,” Chrys said. “Reading between the lines, I think he wants us to figure it out for ourselves.”

Hermione made a thoughtful noise. “Well, that only makes me more determined, I suppose. Although, I’m running out of ideas. What about you, Harry?”

“Uh-huh,” Harry said distractedly. Chrys looked around and spotted Cho Chang sitting nearby with her friends. Clearly, Harry hadn’t heard a word they had just said.

“So, Hermione and I are moving to America to train dragons how to tap dance,” she continued. Hermione stared at her.

“That’s nice,” Harry said. Hermione giggled. "...What?"

“Oh look!” She pointed. “It’s Hagrid!” Chrys looked up to see Hagrid leaning over, talking to Moody. Hagrid had a giant sized tankard next to him, but Moody was drinking from his hip flask. He’d told them during their last lesson that he preferred to eat and drink stuff he prepared himself when he could, to give ‘the enemy’ fewer chances to poison him. If she hadn’t known him, Chrys would’ve just thought he liked the look of it. The hip flask fit well with his scared face and wooden leg. Chrys froze as Moody suddenly looked at them. He whispered something to Hagrid and then they both walked over.

“Alright, Chrys?” Hagrid said loudly. Chrys gave him a weird look. Why was he speaking so loud? Was he drunk already? “Hermione?”

“Hello.” Hermione smiled up at him.

Moody bent down in-between Chrys and Harry, examining the H.E.R.S. notebook.

Then he whispered, “Nice cloak, Potter.”

Chrys stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“Not you,” Moody growled quietly. “Your brother…”

Chrys glanced at Hermione, who appeared not to have heard anything. She was chatting with Hagrid about what the cold weather was doing to the skrewts—he was hoping they would hibernate.

“Can your eye—I mean, can you—?” Harry stammered.

“Yeah, it can see through Invisibility Cloaks.” Moody smirked. “And it’s come in useful at times, I can tell you.” He straightened up and turned to Hermione. “So what’s this H.E.R.S. about, Granger?” Hermione started to tell him excitedly.

Hagrid grinned, and bent down. “Chrys, Harry, meet me tonight at midnight at me cabin. Wear that cloak,” he said quietly. He straightened up and raised his voice, “Nice ter see yeh, Chrys, Hermione.” He winked and left, Moody with him.

“I wasn’t finished explaining,” Hermione said disappointedly.

“Why does Hagrid want to meet us at midnight?” Harry wondered.

“What?” Hermione said.

“He said he wanted to meet me and Harry at midnight,” Chrys told her.

Hermione’s eyebrows went up.

“Does he? I wonder what he’s up to? I don’t know whether you should go…” She looked around nervously and leaned in closer. “It might make you late for Sirius.” Harry frowned.

“Well, I could go meet Hagrid while you speak with Sirius,” Chrys suggested. He blinked.

“You’re sure?”

She shrugged. “I would like to say ‘hi,’ but it’s more important that he speak to you than me.” She tilted her head. “Also, I’m curious about what’s gotten Hagrid so excited.”

That night she pretended to go to bed early, around half past eleven. She slipped on the Invisibility Cloak and then came back downstairs. She passed by the Creevey brothers, who were trying to charm a stack of _Support Cedric Diggory_ badges to say _Support Harry Potter_ instead. Chrys had tried to help, but had only managed to get the text stuck on _Potter Stinks!_

She waited by the portrait hole for a moment. Then it swung open and Harry stepped inside as they had planed. “Thanks,” she whispered.

"Good luck," he whispered back. "Stay safe."

"Me? Of course, I'm always safe."

He snorted and shook his head.

It was very dark, and Chrys kept tripping over rocks and sticks as she crossed the grass down to Hagrid’s hut.

As she got closer, she could see more clearly. Light flooded from Hagrid’s windows, and the windows of the Beauxbatons carriage.

She knocked on Hagrid’s door.

He opened it and looked around. “You there?”

“Yep.” Chrys stepped in and pulled the cloak off her head. She wished Hagrid had a mirror so she could stand in front of it and watch her head seemingly float around. “It’s just me, Harry couldn’t make it,” she told him apologetically.

Hagrid nodded. “Shame ‘bout that, but… I think yeh’ll enjoy it more than him anyways.” He smiled down at her. Then she noticed Hagrid had tried to comb his hair again—the broken comb was stuck in his hair—Chrys sympathized. Also, he was wearing a giant green flower in his buttonhole. “Got summat ter show yeh. It’s a real treat.”

“What is?” Chrys wanted to know.

“Come with me, keep quiet, an’ keep yourself covered with that cloak,” he said, which raised more questions than it answered. “We won’ take Fang, he won’ like it…”

“Like what?”

But Hagrid wasn’t paying attention to her. He was already striding forward with his giant strides, leaving Chrys to fling the cloak back over her head and hurry after him into the night.

Hagrid stopped in front of the Beauxbatons carriage.

He knocked three times.

Madame Maxime came out, wearing a beautiful silky shawl. She smiled.

“Ah, ‘Agrid… is it time?”

“Bong-sewer,” Hagrid said. He held his hand out and helped her down the gold steps onto the grass. They started arm and arm past Madame Maxime’s horses—which Chrys would still like a closer look at, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen tonight.  
What was happening? Was Hagrid on a date? Good for him, but why bring Chrys with them?

“Wair is it you are taking me, ‘Agrid?” Madame Maxime asked, still smiling.

“Yeh’ll enjoy this,” Hagrid assured her. “Worth seein’ trust me. Only—don’ go tellin’ anyone I showed yeh, right? Yeh’re not s’possed ter know.”

Chrys loved knowing things she wasn’t supposed to know.

Apparently, so did Madame Maxime, because she fluttered her eyelashes and promised she wouldn’t say anything.

Chrys was getting her workout in, jogging after the two of them. They walked around the perimeter of the forest. Finally, Chrys heard men shouting somewhere up ahead. And then there was a roar.

Hagrid led them around the bend.

Chrys gasped, and then quickly clamped her hands over her mouth… but no one appeared to have heard her, and she didn’t blame them—there were more important things to be paying attention to.

 _Four_ _dragons_ were fighting against their keepers in an enclosure up ahead. Her heart beat fast as the dragons roared and breathed fire. Their scales, fangs, and talons glinted in the light. Chrys recognized two of the dragons from books she’d read.

The silvery blue dragon with the matching blue flames was a Swedish Short-Snout.

The green dragon that appeared to be fighting back less and roaring more quietly was definitely a Welsh Green.

Chrys had no idea what the other two were.

There was a red one with golden spikes around its face—very Gryffindor—and a black one, which was the largest and had a rather spikey tail.

There were about seven wizards to each dragon—trying to get them to settle down—pulling at chains connected to straps around their necks and legs.

They didn’t appear to be having much success.

The large black dragon screeched—its yellow eyes swiveling as it looked for an escape.

“Keep back there, Hagrid!” A familiar voice shouted. Chrys tore her eyes off the dragon to look at the wizard closest to their side of the fence. “They can shoot fire at a range of twenty feet, you know! I’ve seen this Horntail do forty!”

It was a warning, but his tone sounded impressed too. Chrys realized why she recognized the voice—it was Charlie Weasley!

“Is’n it beautiful?” Hagrid said softly.

“It’s no good!” One of Charlie’s colleagues shouted. “Stunning Spells, on the count of three!” They all pulled out their wands and he counted. “One! Two! —”

“ _Stupefy_!” The wizards called out. The dragons were showered in red sparks. The flames suddenly went out, and the black dragon landed with a thud that made the trees around them shake. The dragon keepers quickly went to look over each of their charges, making sure their chains were securing connected to pegs in the ground.

“Wan’ a closer look?” Hagrid asked Madame Maxime. Chrys couldn’t tell if Madame Maxime was as excited as Chrys and Hagrid were, but her face certainly looked determined. She nodded, and Hagrid smiled widely and they walked up to the fence.

“All right, Hagrid?” Charlie said, panting. “They should be okay now—we put them out with a Sleeping Draft on the way here, thought it might be better for them to wake up in the dark and the quiet—but, like you saw, they were not happy, not happy at all…”

“What breeds have you got here, Charlie?” Hagrid asked.

“This is the Hungarian Horntail,” Charlie said, of the giant black dragon, which was closest to them. “There’s a Common Welsh Green over there, the smaller one—a Swedish Short-Snout, that blue-grey—” Chrys grinned to herself, proud to have gotten those two correct. “—And a Chinese Fireball, that’s the red.” Charlie looked over at Madame Maxime, who was walking further along the edge of the fence, to get a look at the others. “I didn’t know you were bringing her, Hagrid.” Charlie frowned. “The champions aren’t supposed to know what’s coming—she’s bound to tell her student, isn’t she?” Chrys briefly felt bad about her immediate plans to tell Harry when she got back to the tower—and then she remembered Harry had been unwillingly entered into this stupid tournament, and decided if anyone deserved to know, he certainly did.

“Jus’ thought she’d like ter see ‘em.” Hagrid shrugged, still staring at the Horntail in awe.

Charlie shook his head, smiling a bit. “Really romantic date.”

Chrys didn’t know about _romantic_ , but she certainly found it impressive.

“Four…” Hagrid noted. “So it’s one fer each o’ the champions, is it? What’ve they gotta do—fight ‘em?” Chrys winced. As cool as they looked, she didn’t want Harry to have face them, especially alone.

“Just get past them, I think,” Charlie said. “We’ll be on hand if it gets nasty—” That’s good. “—Extinguishing Spells at the ready.” Extinguishing Spells? Oh no. “They wanted nesting mothers.” Double oh no. “I don’t know why… but I tell you this, I don’t envy the one who gets the Horntail. Vicious thing. Its back end’s just as dangerous as its front, look.” He pointed. Chrys took a longer look at the spikes. Yep, Harry was definitely getting the Horntail. No doubt about it. Five more dragon keepers walked up to the Horntail, and carefully placed large gray eyes next to her in a basket. Hagrid moaned. Charlie gave him a look. “I’ve got them counted, Hagrid… how’s Harry?”

“Fine.” Hagrid was still staring at the eggs.

“Just hope he’s still fine after he’s faced this lot.” Charlie grimaced at the dragons. “I didn’t dare tell mum what he’s got to do for the first task—she’s already having kittens about him— _how could they let him enter that tournament, he’s much too young!_ _I thought they were all safe, I thought there was_ _an age limit_!” Charlie did an oddly good impression of his mother. “She was in floods after that _Daily Prophet_ article about him. _He still cries about his parents! Oh bless him, I never knew!”_

Chrys rolled her eyes. Surely, Mrs. Weasley didn’t believe that waffle… then she remembered how big a fan Mrs. Weasley had been of their DADA teacher in second year Lockhart, who had turned out to be a huge fraud under the layered on charm. People liked a bit of flash, she supposed—she just wished it didn’t come at Harry’s expense so often.

She checked her watch. She had fifteen minutes before Sirius’ head was due to pop up in the common room fireplace. She should get back before then so she could tell them about the dragons.

She ran up through the dark, trying to remember if anything she’d read about dragons would actually be helpful about sneaking past them.

And then she crashed into someone. She lay on her back, her hand over her mouth trying to stifle her panting breaths, her glasses hanging off one ear.

“Who’s there?” A voice called out. Chrys sat up slowly, making sure the cloak was still covering her. “Who’s there?” It was Karkaroff, looking around suspiciously. Chrys sat very still and quiet. Karkaroff bent over, maybe thinking he had hit a dog or something. Then, seeing nothing, he snuck along the edge of the forest towards the dragon enclosure.

So, three out of the four champions would soon know what they were up against. It didn’t seem fair to Cedric, Chrys thought as she continued up to the castle.


	18. Of Preparation and Perilous

“Balderdash!” She said to the Fat Lady, who appeared to be sleeping.

“If you say so,” the Fat Lady murmured, and swung open without evening opening her eyes. Chrys climbed through the portrait hole. Harry looked up.

“Chrys?”

Chrys pulled the cloak off as the portrait swung closed behind her.

“You won’t believe what Hagrid’s just shown me!”

“Wait a sec…” Harry glanced at his watch. And then Sirius’ head appeared in the fire. Harry beamed. “Sirius!” He knelt down in front of the fireplace. Chrys sat cross-legged next to him. “How’re you doing?”

“You look good,” Chrys said. His long matted hair had been cropped short, and his face wasn’t as gaunt or grey. Sirius almost smiled.

“Thanks, little flower,” he said. Chrys nearly blushed. Harry shot her an amused look. Then Sirius’ expression turned serious. “But never mind me, how are you two?”

“I’m okay, but…” Chrys looked sideways at Harry.

“I’m—” Harry choked. “I’m not great,” he admitted. He told Sirius about Ron and most of the castle not believing him about putting his name in the goblet, and then about Skeeter’s fabrications. “I don’t know how it can get worse.”

Chrys winced. “Ah… funny you should say that.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I’ve just been with Hagrid and… he showed me what the first task is.” They stared at her. “It’s dragons. Charlie—that’s Ron’s brother, Sirius, he’s a dragon keeper—well—Charlie and these other dragon keepers have brought four nesting mothers over, one for each champion. Charlie thinks the first task is going to be getting past them somehow, but he didn’t know the details.”

Harry groaned. “Great. I’m a goner. Terrific. Just fantastic.”

Chrys patted him on the back. Sirius looked at him concernedly.

“Dragons we can deal with, Harry, but we’ll get to that in a minute,” he said, rather dismissively, in Chrys’ opinion. She and Harry exchanged a confused look. “I haven’t got long here—I’ve broken into a wizarding house to use the fire, but they could be back at any time.” Chrys frowned. “There are things I need to warn you about.”

Harry stiffened. “What?”

“Karkaroff,” Sirius said. “Harry, he was a Death Eater. You know what Death Eaters are, don’t you?” Chrys stared wide-eyed at him.

“Yes,” Harry said. “He—what?”

“He was caught, he was in Azkaban with me, but he got released,” Sirius continued quickly. “I’d bet everything that’s why Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year—to keep an eye on him. Moody caught Karkaroff. Put him into Azkaban in the first place.” No wonder Karkaroff looked both so frightened and spiteful the first night he saw Moody.

“Karkaroff got released?” Harry asked confusedly. “Why did they release him?”

“He did a deal with the Ministry of Magic,” Sirius said resentfully. “He said he’d seen the error of his ways, and he named names… he put a load of other people into Azkaban in his place… he’s not very popular in there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he’s been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So watch out for the Durmstrang champion as well.”

Chrys frowned. Karkaroff had seemed sleazy from the start, but Krum hadn’t. He was a bit surly, perhaps, but he didn’t seem _dangerous_.

“Okay,” Harry said slowly. “But… are you saying Karkaroff put my name in the goblet? — Because if he did, he’s a really good actor. He seemed furious about it. He wanted to stop me from competing.”

“We know he’s a good actor,” Sirius grunted. “Because he convinced the Ministry of Magic to set him free, didn’t he? Now, I’ve been keeping an eye on the _Daily Prophet,_ Harry—”

“You and the rest of the world,” Harry grumbled.

“—And reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman’s article last month…” Sirius continued. “Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts.” Harry opened his mouth. “Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm, but I don’t think so, somehow. I think someone tired to stop him from getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one’s going to look into it too closely—Mad-Eye’s heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn’t mean he can’t still spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had.”

Chrys nodded. “That’s what Remus said.”

Sirius blinked. “You’ve been in touch with Remus?”

“Yeah. You should write him, he misses you,” she told him. Sirius frowned slightly.

“I… I still don’t understand,” Harry said. They looked at him. “Sirius, what are you saying? Karkaroff’s trying to kill me? But why?”

Sirius hesitated. “…I’ve been hearing some very strange things. The Death Eaters seem to be a bit more active than usual lately. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn’t they? Someone set off the Dark Mark… and then—did you hear about the Ministry of Magic witch who’s gone missing?”

“Bertha Jorkins?” Harry recalled.

“Exactly… she disappeared in Albania, and that’s definitely where Voldemort was rumored to be last,” Sirius said. Chrys frowned. “…And she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn’t she?”

“Yeah, but… it’s not very likely she’d have walked straight into Voldemort, is it?” Harry thought.

“Listen, I knew Bertha Jorkins,” Sirius said. “She was at Hogwarts when I was, a few years above your dad and me. And she was an idiot. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. It’s not a good combination, Harry. I’d say she’d be very easy to lure into a trap.”

“So… so Voldemort could have found out about the tournament?” Harry said. “Is that what you mean? You think Karkaroff might be here on his orders?”

“But, Sirius, you said Karkaroff turned in other Death Eaters. I doubt they would welcome him back with open arms…” Chrys thought.

Sirius nodded slowly.

"You've got a point. I agree that he doesn’t seem like the type to go back to Voldemort … unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him,” he thought. Chrys remembered him saying something similar about Pettigrew. He turned back to Harry. “But whoever put your name in that goblet did it for a reason, and I can’t help thinking the tournament would be a very good way to attack you and make it look like an accident.”

Harry grimaced. “Looks like a really good plan from where I’m standing,” he agreed. “They’ll just have to stand back and let the dragons do their stuff.”

“Right—these dragons,” Sirius said quickly. “There’s a way, Harry. Don’t be tempted to try a Stunning Spell—dragons are strong and too powerfully magical to be knocked out by a single Stunner, you need about half a dozen wizards at a time to overcome a dragon—”

“Seven, at least,” Chrys said. “I’ve just seen them do it.”

“But you can do it alone,” Sirius continued, still looking at Harry. “There is a way, and a simple spell’s all you need. Just—” Harry held his hand up. There were footsteps coming down the boys’ staircase.

“Go!” Harry said. “Go! There’s someone coming!” Harry and Chrys stood up, blocking the fire from view. There was a ‘ _pop!’_ behind them as Sirius left. Harry sighed in relief.

And then Ron stepped out of the stairwell in his maroon paisley pajamas. He froze, staring at them. “Who were you talking to?”

“Each other,” Harry and Chrys said at the same time. Ron’s brow furrowed.

“Thought I heard a man’s voice…”

“Harry must finally be going through puberty,” Chrys joked. Harry shot her a look.

“Anyway, what’s that got to do with you?” He snapped at Ron. “What are you doing down here at this time of night?”

“I just wondered where you…” Ron shrugged. “Nothing. I’m going back to bed.”

“Just thought you’d come nosing around, did you?” Harry snarled.

“Harry…” Chrys said tiredly. Ron’s face turned red.

“Sorry about that,” he said, not sounding very sorry at all. “Should’ve realized you didn’t want to be disturbed. I’ll let you get on with practicing for your next interview in peace.”

Harry grabbed one of the _Support Cedric Diggory_ badges (which Chrys realized now said _‘Potter Really Stinks’_ on them) from the table and threw it hard at Ron.

“Harry!” Chrys said sharply as it hit Ron on the forehead and bounced off.

“What?” Harry snapped at her. “It’s something for him to wear on Tuesday!” He glared at Ron. “You might even have a scar now, if you’re lucky… That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Harry pushed past Ron and stomped upstairs.

Ron stared at the badge lying on the floor.

“Are you… are you all right?” Chrys asked hesitantly. She reached up to touch his forehead. He winced.

“I’m all right…” Ron pushed her off gently. Then he frowned. “Actually, you know what? I’m not all right, Chrys.”

“Yeah.” She grimaced. “I sort of figured. Want to talk about it? I’ve got licorice…”

Ron snorted. “You’ve _always_ got licorice…”

Later that morning, Chrys woke and went for her run with Ginny.

“What’s wrong?” Ginny asked as they walked back to the castle, Chrys clutching a stitch at her side. “Your time was much better last week.”

“I’m just tired, I think,” Chrys said. Ginny frowned.

“You’ve got trouble sleeping again? I’ll go with you to get a Dreamless Sleep Potion from Madam Pomfrey, if you like.”

“No, no, it’s not like that…” Chrys pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Actually, I was up late last night talking to your brother.”

“Hmm…” Ginny studied her. “Fred?”

“What? No! I meant Ron. Why would you think it was Fred?” Chrys felt very warm all of a sudden. It must be all the running.

“I wonder why…” Ginny smiled slightly. “Anyway, you were talking to Ron about his and Harry’s stupid fight, I suppose?” Chrys nodded.

“Fat lot of good it did. I mean he finally started talking about his _feelings_ …” she said. Ginny smirked. “…Which is good, but he didn’t let me get a word in, and then I sort of fell asleep while he was talking, and he was very offended.” Ginny laughed.

“Well, wouldn’t you be?” They stepped through the castle doors. Ginny looked longingly at the Great Hall. “I’m starved… don’t suppose you’d want to have a bite before we hit the showers?”

Chrys shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

They got a few weird looks from their muggle styled jogging outfits, but Ginny and Chrys ignored them, spotting Hermione and sitting down next to her.

“Have a nice run?” Hermione asked, looking up from her Arithmancy book.

“Not bad,” Ginny said, pouring some pumpkin juice for herself. Chrys started ladling oatmeal into a bowl. “We were just talking about…” She trailed off, looking over Hermione’s shoulder at Harry, who was walking over to them.

“Chrys, Hermione, let’s go for a walk,” Harry said without introduction.

“But I just got back from my run,” Chrys complained. Harry stared at her with those big green eyes of his. Damn him. She sighed, sliding her bowl of oatmeal over in front of Ginny so it wouldn’t go to waste. “Let me just grab some toast.”

Chrys and Harry told Hermione about the dragons and the meeting with Sirius. For the moment, Hermione was more concerned about the dragons.

“Let’s just try and keep you alive until Tuesday evening,” she said anxiously. “And then we can worry about Karkaroff.”

They walked three times around the lake, trying to think about what simple spell Sirius could have been about to mention, that could subdue a dragon.

“Well,” Hermione said. “When in doubt—”

“Go to the library,” Chrys and Harry finished.

They emptied out the shelves in the relevant section and spread the books out over their favorite table.

“ _Talon-clipping by charms… treating scale rot_ ,” Harry read as he sorted through the pile. “This is no good, this is for nutters like Hagrid who want to keep them healthy.”

“Hey,” Chrys said.

“Sorry. I forgot you’re also one of those nutters, Chrys.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. Harry grinned.

“ _Dragons are extremely difficult to slay, owing to the ancient magic that imbues their thick hides, which none but the most powerful spells can penetrate,_ ” Hermione read. She frowned. “But Sirius said a simple one would do it…”

“Well, I don’t know what spell you’d use, but in terms of penetrating their hide, a dragon’s weakest point is typically their eyes,” Chrys told them, tapping her glasses.

“But surely poking it in the eye would only make it angrier at me?” Harry thought.

“Probably,” Chrys agreed. “Isn’t the Hogwarts motto something about not poking a dragon in the eye?”

“Actually, it’s _Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus,_ ” Hermione corrected her. They stared at her. “…Never tickle a sleeping dragon.”

“Well, I do know a tickling jinx,” Harry said dryly. “I’ll keep that in mind as a last resort.”

At breakfast the next day, Harry appeared to be having trouble chewing his bacon.

“If you want, I’ll do it for you,” Chrys offered. His brow furrowed.

“What, chew my bacon? I’m not a baby bird, Chrys.”

“Gross, no…” She made a face. “I meant I’d face the dragon.” He stared at her. “I’ll just… I don’t know, polyjuice myself to look like you and then…”

“And then?” Harry repeated. She frowned. “It’s fine. We’ll figure it out… and even if we don’t, at least I know what I’m up against. Imagine if I had to go into this without knowing what I was facing…” He paused. Chrys followed his gaze. He was watching Cedric stand up from the Hufflepuff table. “Listen, I’ll meet you in the dungeons.”

Chrys watched him hurry after Cedric.

“Miss Potter,” Snape said as they sat down at their desks. “Where is your brother?”

“In the bathroom,” Chrys lied. Snape didn’t seem to find it a very impressive lie. He raised his eyebrows.

“Indeed?

“Yes…”

Harry burst into the room, panting slightly. Everyone stared at him.

“Er… sorry I’m late, Professor. I was… in the bathroom.”

Chrys smirked. Great minds think alike. Unfortunately, Snape did not think of them as such.

“Five points from Gryffindor for your tardiness, Potter.”

“But he’s only three minutes late!” Seamus complained.

“Five more points from Gryffindor, Finnigan” Snape said. “Anyone else?” He looked around at them.

“No, sir,” they muttered, opening up their books.

Harry sat down behind Chrys and Hermione.

“Hermione,” he whispered. “I need you to help me.”

“What d’you think I’ve been trying to do, Harry?” She whispered back.

“Hermione, I need to learn how to do a Summoning Charm properly by tomorrow afternoon,” Harry elaborated.

They decided to skip lunch, finding an empty classroom to practice in. Harry had been trying and failing to cast the Summoning Charm for months—and now he had to master it by tomorrow—they needed all the time they could get.

“I still think it’s strange that Moody helped you find out how to face the dragon,” Chrys commented, sitting on the top of a desk with her legs dangling as she watched Harry stand in the middle of the room with his wand out. There were quills and books scattered around on the floor. They kept dropping halfway towards him.

He sighed. “I told you, he said it was a decent thing for me to do, telling Cedric about the dragon, and Karkaroff and Maxime are going to cheat anyway, so he wanted to give me a fair shot at this thing…”

Hermione tutted. “Concentrate, Harry, concentrate…”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” He snapped. “A great big dragon keeps popping up in my head, for some reason…”

Harry briefly considered skipping Transfiguration in order to keep practicing… but no one wanted to get Professor McGonagall’s bad side.

That night, they ate dinner quickly and then snuck into another empty classroom under the Invisibility Cloak. Sometime past midnight, Peeves turned up and decided that if Harry wanted things to come to him, Peeves would help.

“Let’s go!” Harry said, ducking as a chair flew over his head. “Before the noise attracts Filch.”

They went back to the common room, which luckily, was empty.

By two in the morning, Harry had finally managed to summon objects close enough for him to catch them, nine times out of ten.

“That’s better, Harry,” Hermione breathed, as Neville’s toad Trevor came soaring into his hand. “That’s loads better.” She smiled sleepily at him.

“Well, now we know what to do next time I can’t manage a spell…” Harry said. He threw Chrys’ rune dictionary at her. She caught it awkwardly. “… Threaten me with a dragon.” She snorted. “Right…” He pointed his wand. “ _Accio_ dictionary!” The book flew out of Chrys’ hands and into his.

“Harry, I really think you’ve got it!” Hermione said happily.

“Just as long as it works later,” Harry said. “The Firebolt’s going to be much farther away than the stuff in here. It’s going to be in the castle, and I’m going to be out there on the grounds…” Chrys frowned.

“I still think I should just stand nearby with it.”

Harry shook his head. “It’ll be too suspicious—I’m not supposed to know what the First Task is, remember? We can’t get Hagrid in trouble… and Moody, I suppose.”

Chrys nodded grimly. “It doesn’t matter how far away it is,” Hermione said. “Just as long as you’re concentrating really, really hard on it, it’ll come…” Harry yawned. “Harry, we’d better get some sleep… you’re going to need it.”

First period was History of Magic. Chrys held her up book in front of Harry’s face so he could sleep a bit more.

Chrys wasn’t sure he was fully awake when they walked out halfway through Double Charms. His face was sort of blank and he kept almost walking into things. Chrys grabbed his arm and guided him around the flood of students getting out of class for an early lunch before they went down onto the grounds for the First Task.

“We’ll have a box of tissues ready, Potter!” Malfoy hissed as he passed by. Chrys made a rude hand gesture at him, and then grabbed Harry before he could flatten his face on a wall.

They had just sat down at the table when Professor McGonagall rushed up to them.

“Mr. Potter, the champions have to come down onto the grounds now… you have to get ready for the First Task.”

“Okay.” Harry stood up, his fork falling loudly onto his plate. Chrys winced.

“Professor, do you think it would be okay if I went with him?” She asked. Professor McGonagall frowned. “Just to see him off, you know.”

“…Very well. I am going to show him to the tent. You may come with us,” she said. Chrys smiled weakly at her.

“Good luck, Harry!” Hermione said quietly. “You’ll be fine!”

“Yeah…” Harry said, his voice sounding far away.

Professor McGonagall paused on the front steps of the castle. She put her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Now, don’t panic.” She almost sounded like she was speaking more to herself. “Just keep a cool head… we’ve got wizards standing by to control the situation if it gets out of hand… the main thing is just to do your best, and nobody will think any the worse of you… are you all right?”

“Yes,” Harry said in that same far off voice. “Yes, I’m fine.” Professor McGonagall and Chrys looked at him doubtfully before starting off again.

Professor McGonagall led them to the line of trees in front of the dragon enclosure. A tent had been put just before the turn.

“You’re to go in here with the other champions,” Professor McGonagall told him, a little shakily. “And wait for your turn, Mr. Potter. Mr. Bagman is in there… he’ll be telling you the—the procedure… good luck.”

“Thanks,” Harry said blankly. Chrys hugged him tight. They pulled apart, and she opened her mouth, but wasn’t sure what to say.

“Come, Miss Potter,” Professor McGonagall said apologetically. “It’s time for us to go.”


	19. Of Wings and Wanting

Professor McGonagall led Chrys around the corner. Chrys looked up at the tall stands that had been built on the edge of the tree line.

“I think I’ll wait down here, for now,” she said quietly.

“Then I will wait with you,” Professor McGonagall said.

They stood there in stiff silence.

At some point Madam Pomfrey and Professor Flitwick came down. Professor Flitwick conjured up a stretch of white canvas to the side of the stands. Then he waved his wand and the canvas righted itself into a second tent. There was a little red cross over the entrance. Chrys swallowed. Madam Pomfrey thanked Professor Flitwick and walked inside. Professor Flitwick spotted Chrys and Professor McGonagall and walked over to them.

“How are you, Miss Potter?” He asked, looking a bit concerned.

“I…” Her throat felt sticky. He smiled gently.

“I am sure he will do admirably,” he said. He nodded at Professor McGonagall. “Minerva.”

He headed up into the stands.

Chrys wasn’t sure how much time passed before she heard the students coming down from the castle. Slowly they started to file up into the stands.

“Chrys!” Hermione cried out, relieved. Ron was at her side. “We’d better go up if we want to get a good seat…”

Chrys nodded. “Thanks for waiting with me, Professor.”

“Of course, Miss Potter.”

The three of them headed up to the stands, settling towards the top, just above a large group of Gryffindors.

Ron stared down at the empty enclosure. It had been fortified since Chrys last saw it. The enclosure was now walled, with the middle sort of scooped out like a bowl. If Chrys squinted, she could see a shimmery barrier covering the top of the enclosure in a dome. In the center of the enclosure was a nest, filled with—

“Blimey,” Ron said. “Those look like dragon eggs—and there’s the gold one, right in the middle.” There was a golden egg nestled amongst the others.

“Professor Dumbledore just explained the First Task to everyone in the Great Hall,” Hermione told Chrys. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, _explained_ is a rather generous word for what he said.”

“He only said each champion is going to face an obstacle, and try to get past it to retrieve some sort of golden egg,” Ron said. “Only he didn’t say what the obstacle was going to be… but that’s a big enclosure down there, and if those _are_ dragon eggs, then...” On one side of the enclosure was the champions’ tent. On the other was another stone enclosure, but those walls were too high to see over. That must be where the dragons were being kept. Ron’s brow furrowed. “You don’t think they’re meant to steal an egg from a dragon, do you?”

“Yeah, I do think….” Chrys looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Actually, I don’t just think, I _know_.” Ron looked at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I tried to tell you the other night, but you weren’t really listening, and then I fell asleep—”

“It can’t be _dragons_ ,” Ron said, his eyes widening. “That’d be mad … I mean I know these tasks are supposed to be dangerous, but they’re supposed to be _less_ dangerous this year.”

“There was supposed to be an age limit as well,” Chrys reminded him.

“But—” Ron said. “Harry—”

“Good afternoon, to all who are gathered here today!” Dumbledore’s voice echoed over the mutters of the crowd. Chrys turned. He was standing in a raised booth with the other judges. “The First Task of the Triwizard Tournmanet of 1994 will commence shortly. Our announcer, Mr. Ludo Bagman will start things off for us…” Dumbledore looked around. Bagman was nowhere to be seen. Dumbledore pulled out a whistle and blew it. A moment later, Bagman came sprinting out of the champions’ tent. “Ah, here he comes now.” They waited until he made it up to the judging panel.

“Well—” Bagman said. His projected voice was a little winded. “Will the keepers bring out the first challenge!”

One of high walls opened up, and the Swedish Short-Snout was led out into the enclosure.

“Bloody hell.” Ron clenched his hands into fists. The dragon keepers chained the Short-Snout close to a peg in the ground near the nest and then backed away quickly through the high walls again. The dragon sniffed the eggs, let out a satisfied roar, and then curled around them. “Swedish Short-Snout, they’ve got some of the hottest fire there is…”

“Do they?” Hermione squeaked. She gripped Chrys’ arm. “Why didn’t you say anything? We should have prepared for each dragon specifically!”

“We had a hard enough time making a general plan,” Chrys reminded her.

“So—so, he does have a plan?” Ron asked nervously. “But—but how did you know it was dragons?”

“Well—” Chrys started.

“Cedric Diggory, if you would please come out and face your dragon!” Bagman called out. Cedric came out of the tent. He was rather pale, but his head was held high. The Swedish Short-Snout looked down at him suspiciously. Cedric raised his wand, but before he could do anything the Short-Snout breathed out a jet of blue fire at him. The crowd gasped. Cedric rolled out of the way just in time. “Ooh, narrow miss there, very narrow.”

“Three out of four champions are Quidditch players, so they should have good reflexes,” Hermione muttered. “I wonder if that’ll put the Delacour girl at a disadvantage…” Cedric raised his wand again, saying something they couldn’t hear from this distance. Suddenly there was a large golden dog where there had been a rock a moment ago. “Impressive… that’s really advanced Transfiguration, but I suppose, for a seventh year—” The short-snout was considering the dog, but hadn’t moved.

 _“Clever_ move—pity it didn’t work,” Bagman said. Cedric pointed his wand at the dog. It moved towards the dragon on one side, while he moved around the other. He got up very close behind the dragon. As the dog got closer, the dragon’s interest grew. It stretched its neck out towards it. Cedric crept up behind it, but the dragon’s arm was blocking the eggs. Cedric raised his wand again. The dog moved closer. The dragon raised its arm to swipe at it. Cedric ducked under his arm. “He’s taking risks, this one!” Cedric grabbed the egg. The dragon’s head whipped around. It spat out a blast of fire. Cedric’s face caught on fire. People screamed. Hermione was clutching Chrys so tightly Chrys could feel her fingernails biting through her robes. Several dragon keepers rushed out from behind the wall. Some of them grabbed Cedric and pulled him back while the others distracted the dragon. Professor Sprout, Hagrid, and Moody ran out onto the field. They reached Cedric just as the keepers were putting out the flames. “Well, look at that, Mr. Diggory is still standing.” That was a good sign, at least. Professor Sprout appeared to be arguing with Diggory. “That’s the resilience of youth for you! Still… obviously not ideal—in fact, serious injury came mean disqualification—” The crowd groaned, the Hufflepuffs the loudest. “—But he did get the egg _before_ he was injured, so I say he should get some points for that… what do you say, Barty?” Crouch leaned in and whispered something to him. “Excellent! The judges will _not_ disqualify Mr. Diggory!” The crowd cheered. Cedric held his egg up triumphantly over his head. It was a bit hard to see from this high up, but Chrys was fairly sure half of his face was one big blister. “Very good indeed! And now the marks from the judges…”

The judges shot silver ribbons out of their wands that formed into numbers.

“Full marks is ten points from each judge,” Hermione said quietly. Most of the crowd was talking very loudly. “He didn’t do too badly, considering…” She frowned. “He will be all right, won’t he?”

“He should be,” Ron said, though his face was very pale. “Charlie has got burned loads of times… I mean, Short-Snouts do have a really hot flames, but as long as Diggory gets it treated quickly…” Professor Sprout was practically pushing Cedric towards the First Aid Tent at that very moment.

“There has been a lot of improvement in dragon-fire-burn-treatment in the past ten years,” Chrys, who had read about this last night, said.

“Oh, here we go again,” Hermione said nervously. The dragon keepers were leading out the Short-Snout. Then they replaced the nest with a new one, and brought out the Welsh Green.

Dumbledore blew his whistle again.

“One down, three to go!” Bagman said. “Miss Delacour, if you please.”

Fleur came out of the tent. She raised her wand in a sort of spiral motion. The dragon followed her movements and then collapsed. The impact of the dragon hitting the ground knocked Fleur off her feet.

“Oh, I’m not sure that was wise!” Bagman said.

“It’s not hurt, is it?” Chrys asked worriedly. Ron glanced at her.

“You sound like Charlie—worrying about the dragon before you worry about the girl.”

“Either way she gets points off,” Hermione told them.

Ron shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked down at the enclosure.

“She’s getting up again.”

“It’s almost like it’s asleep,” Chrys thought. Fleur crept up to the dragon, which did appear to be snoring. She reached for the egg.

The dragon yawned. “Oh…” Bagman said. Fleur froze. “Nearly!” Fleur reached for it again. “Careful now…” The dragon let out a snort of fire. The crowd gasped as Fleur’s skirt caught. She quickly put it out with a jet of water from her wand. “…Good lord, I thought she’d had it then!” The dragon continued breathing slowly. Fleur darted forward quickly, grabbed the egg, and ran out of the way. The crowd cheered. Fleur’s scores were shown. She had done much better than Cedric. The dragon keepers switched out the eggs and dragon. Next was the Chinese Fireball. Dumbledore blew the whistle again. “And here comes Mr. Krum!” Chrys groaned.

“What?” Ron said, applauding excitedly for Krum’s arrival.

“If Krum has the Fireball, that means Harry has the Horntail.”

Ron stiffened. “Hungarian Horntail?” He asked. Chrys nodded. “Damn.” Ron’s jaw clenched. “Harry gets all the luck, doesn’t he?”

Krum raised his wand. A jet of orange light blast out of it and hit the Fireball in the eye. The Fireball shrieked. Several people covered their ears.

“Very daring!” Bagman said. The Fireball stumbled, disoriented.

“I think he’s blinded it!” Ron said. Krum raced up.

“That’s some nerve he’s showing,” Bagman said.

Krum wasn’t as agile on his feet as he was on a broom, but he did manage to dodge the dragon’s stomping. Her eggs were not as lucky.

“No!” Chrys shouted as several of the eggs were trampled. Hermione winced. The dragon keepers raced out, shouting in protest.

Bagman didn’t appear to notice. “And—yes, he’s got the egg!”

The crowd cheered loudly as the dragon keepers attempted stunned the Fireball. One of the dragon keepers stepped up to Krum and started arguing with him.

“Hey—that’s Charlie!” Ron realized. Chrys stared at the blot of red hair below.

“Yeah… I forgot to tell you he was here…”

“He doesn’t look too pleased,” Hermione said, in an understatement.

“Krum just killed about three baby dragons before they were even born!” Chrys said angrily. “Why shouldn’t Charlie be angry?”

“Yeah…” Ron nodded slowly. “But… well… it’s Krum. _Krum_ , Chrys.” Chrys rolled her eyes.

“Well… he’ll probably get some points off for the damage, at least,” Hermione said, patting her on the back.

Krum got some points off, but not many. Karkaroff gave him full marks.

“Come off it!” Chrys said.

“What did you expect?” Hermione said. “Especially after what Sirius said about him…”

“Sirius said something about Karkaroff?” Ron asked.

“Look!” Chrys stood up. “The Horntail.” Charlie had stopped arguing with Krum in order to help switch out the dragons. 

“Harry Potter!” Bagman announced. Harry stepped out. He and the Horntail stared at each other. She started thrashing her tail.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no!” Hermione said. She stood up too, gripping Chrys’ arm again. Harry raised his wand. “Focus, Harry, _focus_!” Harry shouted. They couldn’t hear him from up here, but Chrys knew he was saying ‘ _Accio Firebolt!’_

“What’s happening? How come nothing’s happening?” Hermione said frantically.

Then Harry’s broomstick came zipping through the shimmery dome above the enclosure. Chrys wondered if the barrier was only meant to block the dragons in particular—they hadn’t known there would be a barrier, though it made sense, they had lucked out that the broom was able to pass through. It stopped in front of him. The crowd cheered as they realized what was about to happen.

“What a powerful Summoning Charm!” Bagman said. “And what a clever idea—summoning his broomstick!” Harry got onto his broom. He flew higher and higher, until he was speck above them. Then he dove. Chrys let out a squeak and grabbed onto Hermione. The Horntail was watching him. Harry flew to the side just in time to avoid a huge jet of fire. The crowd screamed and gasped. “Great Scott, he can fly! Are you watching this, Mr. Krum?” Harry flew up again, but not as high as last time. He circled the Horntail. Its head turned this way and that as it followed his progress.

“He’s trying to make it dizzy…” Ron realized. “Brilliant.”

“And dangerous,” Chrys muttered. “If he pushes it too far—” The dragon let out another blast of fire. Harry dodged the fire again, but was caught by the spikey tail this time. Ron jumped to his feet.

“Harry!”

“No!” Chrys said.

“Is he hurt? Is he hurt?” Hermione asked.

“His robes looked ripped—on his shoulder,” Ron said. “But… but he’s still flying, so—so I don’t think he can be hurt too bad—right?”

Harry was slowly urging the dragon forward. He flew down, and then up again, just out of her reach. The Horntail’s neck stretched as far as it could go, but he was just tantalizingly out of reach. She thrashed her tail in frustration, but he was too high up. She shot out another flame, but he dodged. Harry flew this way and that. The Horntail’s eyes followed him… she flapped her wings. Harry dove underneath them, snatching up the golden age and zipping away again.

“Look at that!” Bagman said, barely able to be heard over the crowd roaring in excitement. “Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is the quickest to get his egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr. Potter!”

Harry land neatly at the enclosure’s entrance. Professor McGonagall, Moody, and Hagrid came running out to him. Chrys wanted to run out of the stands and join him, but Hermione still had her arm in a vice. Harry talked to them a little longer and then exited the enclosure.

“Where’s he going?” Ron asked worriedly.

“To the First Aid Tent, probably,” Hermione thought. “Come on, let’s go.”

They ran down the stands towards the First Aid Tent.

Harry was sitting inside on a cot.

“Harry, you were brilliant!” Hermione shouted. “You were amazing! You really were!”

Chrys hugged him fiercely, and found that she was crying.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Harry said, a little startled. “It’s all right, I’m fine—it was just a scratch and Madam Pomfrey’s already healed it…” He drew away from her, showing her the unblemished skin where his robes had been torn on his shoulder. “See?” She sniffled and nodded. Harry looked over her shoulder. She turned. He and Ron stared at each other.

“Harry… whoever put your name in that goblet—I—I reckon they’re trying to do you in!” Ron said seriously.

“Caught on, have you?” Harry said coldly. “Took you long enough.” Hermione looked nervously back and forth between them. Ron opened his mouth. “It’s okay. Forget it.”

“No,” Ron said. “I should’ve—”

“Forget it,” Harry insisted. They grinned at each other. Now Hermione burst into tears. Harry stared at her in surprise. “There’s nothing to cry about!”

“You two are so _stupid_!” Hermione stamped her feet. Chrys laughed.

Hermione glared at her. “Sorry, sorry,” Chrys said quickly. “I understand—I’m happy they’ve made up too. Why don’t we go out and see Harry’s scores?”

Hermione nodded, still sniffling. She pulled Harry and Ron into a quick hug and then dashed out of the tent.

Ron shook his head. “Barking mad.”

“You’ve put a lot of pressure on her, you know,” Chrys said sternly, wiping her eyes on her sleeves. “You should apologize for making her run back and forth carrying message—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know…” Ron rubbed the back of his neck. “And you’re right, we should go see the scores… C’mon, Harry.” They stepped outside. “Where’s Hermione gone?”

Chrys looked around. “No idea… maybe she just wanted a minute to herself…”

Ron shrugged. “All right.” He started telling Harry about what the other champions had done as they stood on the grass, looking up at the judges’ section of the stands.

Madame Maxime gave him an eight.

“Not bad!” Ron nodded to himself. The crowd applauded. “I suppose she took marks off for your shoulder…” Crouch gave him a nine. Chrys cheered. “Looking good!” Ron clapped Harry on the back. Dumbledore gave Harry a nine too. Then Bagman gave him a—

“Ten?” Harry said in disbelief. “But… I got hurt… what’s he playing at?”

“Harry, don’t complain!” Ron said happily. Chrys laughed, doing a little dance. And then Karkaroff gave him a four. Chrys stopped dancing and scowled. _“What?_ _Four?”_ Ron shook his fist. “You lousy, biased, scumbag—you gave Krum ten!” Chrys looked at Harry to see how he was taking it. He was smiling warmly at Ron.

The crowd started back up towards the castle. Chrys, Harry, and Ron hung back, trying to spot Hermione.

“Harry!” Charlie ran up to them. “You’re tired in first place, Harry! You and Krum!” Ron opened his mouth. “Listen, I’ve got to run, I’ve got to go and send mum an owl. I swore I’d tell her what happened—” Ron nodded, though he looked a bit disappointed. “—But that was unbelievable!” Charlie grinned at Harry. “Oh yeah—and they told me to tell you you’ve got to hang around for a few more minutes… Bagman wants a word, back in the champions’ tent.” He ran off again.

“You two can head up without me,” Harry said as they followed him automatically towards the tent. “Maybe Hermione left.”

“Nah,” Ron said. They stopped in front of the tent. “We’ll wait here for you.”

Harry smiled. “Cool. Thanks.” He stepped inside. It was only a couple of minutes before he came out again, and the three of them headed up to the castle together.

Ron and Chrys finished telling Harry about what the other champions had done as they walked along the perimeter of the forest.

“Congratulations, Harry!” Rita Skeeter said, stepping out from the trees. “I wonder if you could give me a quick word? How you felt facing that dragon? How you feel _now,_ about the fairness of the scoring?”

“Yeah, you can have a word,” Harry said. “ _Goodbye_!” Chrys laughed. They continued on.

That night the four of them went up to the owlery to send letters to Remus and Sirius.

As they walked up the many flights of stairs, Harry filled Ron in on everything he missed.

“Really, we should’ve suspected him all along,” Ron said of Karkaroff, though he had been quite surprised when Harry first told him. “Fits, doesn’t it? Remember what Malfoy said on the train, about his dad being friends with Karkaroff? Now we know where they knew each other. They were probably running around in masks together at the World Cup…”

Chrys frowned. “I still don’t think Karkaroff would be brave enough to face other Death Eaters after betraying so many of them… and I wonder why he didn’t give up Malfoy.”

“Bribes and threats, probably,” Hermione thought.

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Ron agreed. “Still…even if Karkaroff isn’t paling around with his old mates, he could still be up to something. And I’ll tell you one thing, Harry, if it _was_ Karkaroff who put your name in the goblet, he’s going to be feeling really stupid now, isn’t he? Didn’t work did it? You only got a scratch.” They stepped into the owlery.

Chrys frowned. “There are still two more tasks, Ron.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, and—quit it!” Pigwidgeon had flown at him and was circling his head. Harry snatched him out of the air.

“Here, I’ll help.” Ron held him still as Harry attached the letter to his leg. Hedwig glared at Harry, clearly judging him for using such an inferior owl.

“You get to take mine again,” Chrys told her. Hedwig squinted at her. “Come on—I bet you can get this letter to Remus before Pig can get Harry’s to Sirius.” Hedwig hooted, fluttered down, and stuck out her leg. Harry grinned.

“There’s no way any of the other tasks are going to be that dangerous, how could they be?” Ron thought. “You know what? I reckon you could win this tournament, Harry.” Harry grimaced. “I’m serious.”

Hermione leaned against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Harry’s got a long way to go before he finishes this tournament,” she said as Chrys tied her letter to Hedwig’s leg. “If that was the first task, I hate to think what’s coming next.”

“Right little ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” Ron said, throwing Pigwidgeon out the window. “You and Professor Trelawney should get together sometime.” Chrys snorted. Hermione glared at both of them. They watched Hedwig fly off into the night. “… Well, we’d better get downstairs for your surprise party, Harry—Fred and George should have nicked enough food from the kitchens by now.”

As soon as they stepped through the portrait hole, the common room erupted into cheers. Ron made a beeline for the food. Harry followed him eagerly. Lee set off some fireworks as they were filling up their plates. He shot Chrys a thumb’s up.

“Took a leaf out of your book!” He called out. “Why should fireworks only be for _outside_?” Chrys laughed. She had only set them off in the common room last time to cause a distraction so Harry could get some sleep… the room was rather smoky now. She waved some sparks away from her face, and then spotted the banners hanging up.

“Dean, these are great!” She told him. He grinned. Hermione frowned at the drawing of Cedric’s head on fire. “Especially the dragon…” Chrys stared at it in awe.

“Thanks, but I’m not sure how accurate it is,” he said. “Since I had to go by memory. Wish I had a reference…”

“Oh,” Harry said suddenly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and moving. Chrys stared at the very realistic and lifelike model of a Horntail.

“I love magic,” she breathed. Harry grinned.

“Yeah…” He held it out to her. “You want it?”

“Seriously?” She asked, her eyes widening. He nodded. She squealed and kissed him on the cheek three times.

“Ugh, Chrys…” But he was still grinning.

After they had all eaten and chatted for a while, Lee picked up Harry’s golden egg.

“Blimey, this is heavy…” He said, weighing it in his hands. Chrys leaned over him, eyeing the groove around the middle, and the hinges. Bagman had told Harry there was a clue to the next task hidden inside. “Open it, Harry, go on! Let’s just see what’s inside it!”

“He’s supposed to work out the clue on his own,” Hermione said disapprovingly. “It’s in the tournament rules.”

“I was supposed to work out how to get past the dragon on my own too,” Harry whispered to her. She smiled sheepishly.

“Yeah, go on, Harry, open it!” Seamus said. Several people called out in agreement. Lee passed it over. Harry dug his nails into groove and pulled it open.

Chrys immediately clapped her hands over her ears. There was a horrible screeching noise coming from the seemingly empty egg.

“Shut it!” Fred shouted, his hands also over his ears. Harry slammed it shut.

“What was that?” Seamus stared at it. “Sounded like a banshee… maybe you’ve got to get past one of those next, Harry!”

“It was someone being tortured!” Neville said. He was very pale, and standing in the pile of sausage rolls he’d dropped. “You’re going to have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!”

“Don’t be a prat, Neville, that’s illegal,” George said. Chrys frowned, watching Neville closely. “They wouldn’t use the Cruciatus Curse on the champions.” Neville shivered and started picking up the sausage rolls. He tossed them in the bin, and looked over the table. Fred and George had just laid out dessert before Harry opened the egg. “I thought it sounded a bit like Percy singing… maybe you’ve got to attack him while he’s in the shower, Harry.” Chrys laughed. Neville picked up a custard cream.

“Want a jam tart, Chrys?” Fred held out a plate to her. She squinted suspiciously at it. He grinned. “It’s all right. I haven’t done anything to them. It’s the custard creams you’ve got to watch—” Neville choked on his custard cream. Chrys slapped him on the back. Fred laughed. “Just my little joke, Neville…” Chrys frowned. Fred motioned the plate at her again.

“…No thanks.”

He shrugged. “Hermione?”

Hermione took a jam tart, studying it. “Did you get all this from the kitchens, Fred?”

“Yep.” He cleared his throat and imitated the high-pitched squeak of a house-elf. “ _Anything we can get you, sir, anything at all_! They’re dead helpful… get me a roast ox if I said I was peckish.”

“Oh, but you must have been very clever, finding out how to get in there,” Hermione said casually. Fred grinned.

“Nice try, Hermione. I’m still not telling you how to get into the kitchens.”

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why not?”

“Cause you’d probably try and lead them on strike,” George said knowingly. Chrys put her hands on her hips.

"I thought you agreed they've got a rough deal?"

"Sure." George nodded. "But I don't think the solution is to put them off them their cooking. Or do you want Snape brewing something up for supper?" Several people laughed.

"I just want to talk to—"

Chrys was interrupted by a loud _‘pop!_ ’ as Neville turned into a large canary. Everyone burst into laughter.

“Oh—sorry, Neville!” Fred shouted. Chrys could barely hear him over the laughing. “I forgot—it _was_ the custard creams we hexed—”

She stood on tiptoe and spoke in his ear, “You thought it was the jam tarts! You were trying to turn _me_ into a canary!”

“Well, you’d make a much cuter canary than Neville…” He winked. She flushed and drew away from him. With another _‘pop!’_ Neville molted and appeared to be good as normal. He laughed along with the rest of them. Fred cupped his hands over his mouth. “Canary Creams!” He shouted into the crowd. “George and I invented them—seven sickles each, a bargain!”


	20. Of Tea and Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noticed a few things I wanted to edit in this chapter, so I did that.

As December dawned with chilling wind and icy ground, Chrys and Ginny abandoned their jogs outside in favor of walks through the castle.

Not that they had much time for walking at the moment. Third year was when classes really started upping in intensity, so Chrys was sympathetic to Ginny’s complaints, but also…

“Just wait until next year,” Chrys warned her. “If you think Third Year is hard, then Fourth will really kick your arse.”

“Yeah, but when I’m in Fourth, you’ll be in Fifth—and facing down your O.W.L.s,” Ginny reminded her. Chrys groaned.

“You don’t have to remind me, Remus has already done that.”

“Oh? What has Professor Lupin said?” Ginny asked, curious.

“Well, first he said how proud he was of how Harry faced the Horntail—you should’ve seen Harry blush.” Chrys grinned. “Then he said how furious he was that Harry’d had to face a dragon in the first place…”

Ginny nodded. “Mum said something similar. She blew up at Charlie for not telling her what the task was.”

“And _then_ he started on about how he knew it was a stressful year for us, but he has faith in our abilities to rise above the stress and stay focused on studying for our O.W.L.s next year,” Chrys finished.

“That’s what you get for having a teacher for a godfather, I suppose,” Ginny thought.

Still, O.W.L.s were not until next year, so, for now, Chrys was focused on just surviving this year.

In Care of Magical Creatures they were down to ten skrewts. Hagrid was still hoping they would hibernate, so he had the students set up boxes with blankets and pillows.

The skrewts were not appreciative. They burnt through their boxes immediately and went on a rampage.

“Don’ panic, now, don’ panic!” Hagrid shouted, as the class, well… panicked. Malfoy led the way for most of the class, hiding in Hagrid’s hut and barricading themselves in.

“ _Stupefy!”_ Hermione shouted. A jet of red light shot out of her wand and hit one of the skrewts. The spell bounced off of its shell. Hermione ducked and the red light zipped over her head. The skrewt continued advancing. Chrys kicked it hard.

“Nice one, Chrys!” Dean said, watching it soar over Hagrid’s garden fence.

Hagrid didn’t agree. “Chrys—don’ hurt them, now!” He ran after it with one of the ropes they were meant to be using to restrain them.

“Sorry,” Chrys said, not very apologetically.

“Watch out!” Seamus called out. A skrewt was sneaking up behind Dean. It blasted off its end. Dean dodged, but the blast still cut across his cheek. Seamus roared and grabbed it with his bare hands, wrapping the rope around it.

It blasted off again. Seamus let out a stream of curses and dropped the end of the rope. Chrys snatched it up and quickly tied it to the fence. Seamus cradled his blistering hand to his chest as Dean watched him in concern. Chrys thoughtfully pulled on her dragon hide gloves.

Lavender shrieked. Her robes had caught fire. Chrys grabbed the skrewt as Hermione extinguished the flames. Then the skrewt popped free and scuttled up her arm. Its suckers latched onto her neck and started drawing blood. Hagrid ripped it off of her and tied it to the fence. He looked around at the grumpily subdued skrewts.

“One… two…” He frowned. “On’y nine o’ them. Where’s the las’ one?”

“Um…” Lavender pointed. The last skrewt had backed Harry and Ron up against Hagrid’s hut. Harry and Ron shot red sparks out of their wands. The skrewt paused.

“Don’ frighten him, now!” Hagrid called over. “Jus’ try an’ slip the rope ‘round his sting, so he won’ hurt any o’ the others!”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want that!” Ron snapped, sending out more sparks.

“Well, well, well… this _does_ look like fun.” Rita Skeeter leaned against Hagrid’s fence, a good ways away from where the skrewts were tied up. Chrys sort of wished she’d get closer.

Hermione eyed her warily as Hagrid wrestled the last skrewt away from Harry and Ron, and then tied it up with the others.

“Who’re you?” He asked Skeeter.

“Rita Skeeter, _Daily Prophet_ reporter.” She smiled. Chrys counted three gold teeth.

Hagrid frowned. “Thought Dumbledore said you weren’ allowed inside the school anymore.”

“What are these fascinating creatures?” Skeeter pressed on.

“Blast-Ended Skrewts,” Hagrid grunted.

“Really?” Skeeter said with thinly veiled disinterest. “I’ve never heard of them before… where do they come from?” Hagrid flushed. Skeeter noticed. _Now_ she looked interested.

“They’re very interesting, aren’t they?” Hermione said quickly. “Aren’t they, Harry?”

“What?” Harry said blankly. Hermione stepped on his foot. He winced. “Oh yeah, interesting…”

“Ah, _you’re_ here, Harry!” Skeeter said, smiling toothily at him. “So you like Care of Magical Creatures, do you? One of your favorite lessons?”

“Yes,” Harry said firmly. Hagrid smiled much more genuinely at him.

“Lovely,” Skeeter said. “Really lovely…” She glanced into the hut where most of the class was waiting nervously, and then around at the few who had stayed to help Hagrid… and their injuries. She turned back to Hagrid. “Been teaching long?”

“This is o’ny me second year,” Hagrid admitted.

“Lovely,” Skeeter said again. “I don’t suppose you’d like to give an interview, would you?” Chrys’ eyes widened. She tried to motion warningly at Hagrid behind Skeeter’s back. Hagrid stared at her, confused. Skeeter turned to look at Chrys, who quickly slapped a neutral expression on her face. “Ah, don’t think I’ve forgotten about _our_ interview, Chrysanthemum.” Skeeter winked at her. Chrys struggled to keep her face neutral. “But for now…” Skeeter turned to Hagrid again. “What do you say? Share some of your experience of magical creatures? The _Prophet_ does a zoological column every Wednesday, as I’m sure you know. We could feature these—er—Bang-Ended Scoots.”

“Blast-Ended Skrewts,” Hagrid corrected her, smiling. “Er—yeah, why not?”

Skeeter and Hagrid made a plan to meet in the Three Broomsticks later that week.

“Well, goodbye, Harry, Chrysanthemum!” Skeeter waved to them as they started off towards the castle. “Until Friday night, then, Hagrid!”

Harry shook his head. “She’ll twist everything he says,” he muttered.

“Just as long as he didn’t import those skrewts illegally or anything,” Hermione said worriedly. Chrys grimaced.

“Well, they’re not on the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures’ suspected trafficking lists—I checked.”

“Well, that’s all right, then,” Hermione thought. She frowned at Chrys’ hesitant expression. “Right?” Chrys ran her hand through her hair.

“…Maybe. The thing is, I couldn’t find any record of Blast-Ended Skrewts _anywhere_. They’re not in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ —or any of the recent magi-zoology journals. If they’re an unregulated species Hagrid could get in a lot of trouble…”

“Still…” Ron said. “Hagrid’s been in loads of trouble before, and Dumbledore’s never sacked him. Worst that can happen is Hagrid’ll have to get rid of the skrewts…” His eyes glinted. “Sorry, did I say worst? I meant best.” They laughed.

“Still a while before dinner,” Ron said as they stepped into the entrance hall. “Want a round of chess, Hermione?”

“I suppose so,” Hermione said doubtfully.

“Oh!” Chrys stopped suddenly. “I almost forgot—Hermione, I’ve found the kitchens!”

“What?” Hermione said. “When? How come you didn’t tell me sooner?”

“Well, I finally buttered Lee up enough so that he let something slip—that the kitchens were behind a painting of a bowl of fruit, and you need to tickle the pear to get in.”

“Tickle the pear?” Harry repeated, laughing slightly.

Chrys nodded. “Only, I didn’t know where the painting was, and Lee wouldn’t say, so me and Ginny have been searching for it on our walks. We found it this morning, and we were going to look inside, but Mrs. Norris showed up, so we made a run for it.”

Harry nodded. “Understandable.”

Mrs. Norris was Filch’s cat, and about as friendly as he was.

“Well?” Hermione said. “I don’t see Mrs. Norris anywhere about now, so, what are we waiting for?” She looked around. “Where is it?

“This way.” Chrys headed through a door to the right of the stairs.

“Hold up,” Ron said, as he and Harry hurried after them. “Hermione, I’m not barging into the kitchens and trying to make the house-elves stop work, I’m not doing it—”

“Here it is,” Chrys said, stopping in front of the painting. “Let’s see…” She reached up and tickled the green pear. It giggled and wriggled until it turned into a green handle. Hermione pulled it open. Ron opened his mouth again, but Hermione shoved him inside.

Chrys looked around. Brass pots and pans were stacked way up towards the high ceiling, glinting in the light of a fire towards the back of the room.

“Miss! Chrys Potter!” A familiar voice squeaked out excitedly. Chrys was nearly thrown back as a house-elf jumped on her, hugging around the middle. Chrys laughed as she realized whom it was, and bent to hug him back.

“Dobby?” Harry said incredulously.

Dobby moved to hug him too. “It _is_ Dobby, sir, it is!” His voice was somewhat muffled as his head was pressed against Harry’s stomach. “Dobby has been hoping and hoping to see the Potters, and the Potters have come to see him!” Dobby let go and stepped back to look at them. His giant green eyes were filled with tears.

“Oh, don’t cry, Dobby,” Chrys said.

“Oh, Dobby is just so happy to see you, miss!”

“We’re happy to see you too,” Chrys said. She smiled at his outfit. He was wearing a tea cozy as a hat, with various badges pinned to it (including a Weird Sisters badge), a horseshoe patterned tie, children’s football shorts, and one black sock and one orange and pink striped sock. “I love your clothes!” And besides the clothes, he certainly had a more healthy and happy glow to him than when she’d last seen him. “You look great!”

“Thank you, miss.” He smiled back at her. Harry was squinting closely at the black sock. Chrys wondered if it was the same sock Harry had used to set Dobby free two years ago.

“But, Dobby,” Harry said. “What are you doing here?”

“Dobby has come to work at Hogwarts, sir!” Dobby told him excitedly. “Professor Dumbledore gave Dobby and Winky jobs, sir!” Hermione, who had been looking around at the hundreds of elves around the kitchen, looked up sharply.

“Winky?” Harry repeated. “She’s here too?”

“Yes, sir, yes!” Dobby took Harry’s hand and pulled him past four long tables. The tables were positioned in proportion to the tables for the four houses in the Great Hall. The elves bowed and curtseyed as they passed. Everyone besides Dobby was wearing a tea towel toga with the Hogwarts crest stamped on it. Dobby stopped in front of the fireplace and pointed. “Winky, sir!”

Winky was sitting on a stool. She was wearing a child’s skirt, blouse, and hat with holes cut out for her ears to fit through. The clothes themselves were of high quality, but they were stains on the shirt, and burn on the skirt.

“Oh dear,” Chrys said under her breath.

“Hello, Winky,” Harry said hesitantly. Winky burst into tears.

“Oh dear,” Hermione echoed. “Winky, don’t cry, please don’t…” Winky cried even harder. Dobby was still smiling brightly.

“Would the Potters like some tea?”

“Er—yeah, okay,” Harry said. As soon as he spoke, six house-elves walked up behind him carrying a silver tray with a cup of tea for each other them, a jug of milk, and a plate of biscuits.

“Good service!” Ron said, impressed. Hermione frowned at him, but the elves all beamed and bowed before leaving again. Dobby handed out the cups of tea.

“Thank you, Dobby…” Chrys frowned as she took the tea, frowning as she watched Winky cry.

“You’re welcome, miss!”

"Er, do you want some tea, Winky?" Ron tried, but Winky didn't appear to hear him.

“How long have you been here, Dobby?” Harry asked.

“Only a week, Harry Potter, sir!” He said. “Dobby came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir. You see, sir, it is very difficult for a house-elf who has been dismissed to get a new position, sir, very difficult indeed—” Winky stared crying even louder. Her nose dribbled onto her front.

“Does anybody have a tissue—” Chrys started to ask. A house-elf was immediately at her side with a Hogwarts crest embossed handkerchief. Chrys took it. “Er, thank you.” The house-elf curtsied and swished away again. "Um, Winky, do you want...?" Chrys held the hanky out to her. Winky didn't move.

Dobby took it from her and wiped at Winky’s nose as he continued, “Dobby has traveled the country for two whole years, sir, trying to find work! But Dobby hasn’t found work, sir, because Dobby wants paying now!”

The house-elves nearby looked away, ashamed.

“Good for you, Dobby!” Hermione said.

“Thank you, miss!” He grinned. “But most wizards doesn’t want a house-elf who wants paying, miss. _‘That’s not the point of a house-elf,’_ they says, and they slammed the door in Dobby’s face!” He said. Chrys frowned. “Dobby likes work, but he wants to wear clothes and he wants to be paid, Harry Potter… Dobby likes being free!” The other house-elves started edging away from him as if he had some sort of horrible disease. “And then, Harry Potter, Dobby goes to visit Winky, and finds out Winky has been freed too, sir!” Winky flung herself off of her stool, screaming and beating her fists against the floor.

Hermione crouched down and tried speaking soothingly to her. "It's alright, it's okay, Winky..."

Chrys chewed nervously at her lip.

Dobby raised his voice to be heard over Winky’s sobs, “And then Dobby had the idea, Harry Potter, sir! ‘Why don’t Dobby and Winky find work together?’ Dobby says. ‘Where is there enough work for two house-elves?’ says Winky. And Dobby thinks, and it comes to him, sir! _Hogwarts!_ So Dobby and Winky come to see Professor Dumbledore, sir, and Professor Dumbledore took us on!” Dobby smiled tearfully. “And Professor Dumbledore says he will pay Dobby, sir, if Dobby wants paying! And so Dobby is a free elf, sir, and Dobby gets a galleon a week and one day off a month!”

Hermione frowned. “That’s not very much!”

“Professor Dumbledore offered Dobby ten galleons a week and weekends off…” Dobby shuddered. “…But Dobby beat him down, miss… Dobby likes freedom, miss, but he isn’t wanting too much, miss, he likes work better.”

“And how much is Professor Dumbledore paying _you_ , Winky?” Hermione asked.

Chrys groaned. “Hermione… no…”

Winky stopped crying abruptly and glared at Hermione.

“Winky is a disgraced elf, but Winky is not yet getting paid!” She squeaked. “Winky is not sunk so low as that! Winky is properly ashamed of being freed!”

“Ashamed?” Hermione repeated, confused. “But—Winky, come on! It’s Mr. Crouch who should be ashamed, not you! You didn’t do anything wrong, he was really horrible to you—” Winky slapped her hands over her ears.

“You is not insulting my master, miss! You is not insulting Mr. Crouch! Mr. Crouch is a good wizard, miss! Mr. Crouch is right to sack bad Winky!”

Chrys sighed. “Winky…”

“No!” Winky pressed her hands harder over her ears.

“Winky is having trouble adjusting, Chrys Potter,” Dobby told her. “Winky forgets she is not bound to Mr. Crouch anymore, sir. She is allowed to speak her mind now, but she won’t do it.”

“Can’t house-elves speak their minds about their masters, then?” Harry wondered.

“Oh no, sir, no,” Dobby said seriously. “Tis part of the house-elf’s enslavement, sir.” Hermione looked up at the word ‘enslavement.’ “We keeps their secrets and our silence, sir. We upholds the family’s honor, and we never speaks ill of them—though Professor Dumbledore told Dobby he does not insist upon this. Professor Dumbledore said we is free to—to—” He beckoned Harry closer. Harry and Chrys bent down close to him. “—He said we is free to call him a—a barmy old codger if we likes, sir!” Chrys smiled slightly. Dobby giggled nervously and straightened up. “But Dobby is not wanting to.” He shook his head, his ears flapping. “Dobby likes Professor Dumbledore very much, sir, and is proud to keep his secrets and our silence for him.”

Chrys was very tempted to ask ‘what secrets?’

“But you can say what you like about the Malfoys now?” Harry asked, grinning.

Fear flickered in Dobby’s eyes. “Dobby—Dobby could,” he said doubtfully. His shoulders hunched. “Dobby could tell Harry Potter that his old masters were—were— _bad Dark wizards!_ ” Dobby stiffened, shaking. He raced over to the nearest table and started banging his head on it. “Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!”

Harry grabbed him by the tie and pulled him away from the table.

“Breath, Dobby,” Chrys reminded him. “You aren’t bound to them anymore—remember?”

“Yes, yes…” Dobby was still shaking a bit. “Thank you, miss… sir.” He nodded at hem. “Thank you…” He rubbed his head.

“You just need a bit of practice,” Harry said gently.

“Practice!” Winky squeaked. “You is ought to be ashamed of yourself, Dobby, talking that way about your masters!” Chrys frowned.

“They isn’t my masters anymore, Winky!” Dobby said defiantly. “Dobby doesn’t care what they think anymore!”

“Oh you is a bad elf, Dobby!” Winky groaned. “My poor Mr. Crouch, what is he doing without Winky? He is needing me, he is needing my help! I is looking after the Crouches all my life, and my mother is doing it before me, and my grandmother is doing it before her… oh what is they saying if they knew Winky was freed? Oh the shame, the shame!” She bent her head and hid her face in her skirt.

“Winky,” Hermione said determinedly. “I’m quite sure Mr. Crouch is getting along perfectly well without you.” Chrys shot her a warning look, but Hermione went on. “We’ve seen him, you know—”

“You is seeing my master?” Winky said breathlessly. She looked up to stare at Hermione. “You is seeing him here at Hogwarts?”

“Yes. He and Mr. Bagman are judges in the Triwizard Tournament—”

“Mr. Bagman comes too?” Winky frowned. “Mr. Bagman is a bad wizard!” They stared at her. “A very bad wizard! My master isn’t liking him, oh no, not at all!”

“Bagman—bad?” Harry asked, confused.

“Oh yes.” Winky nodded. “My master is telling Winky some things! But Winky is not saying… Winky—Winky keeps her master’s secrets…” She started sobbing again. “Poor master, poor master, no Winky to help him no more!”

There didn’t seem to be anything else they could do for Winky at the moment. So they sat and finished their tea as Dobby told them what he planned to do with his wages.

“Dobby is going to buy a sweater next, Harry Potter!” He pointed at his bare chest.

“Tell you what, Dobby,” Ron said, sounding quite relaxed as he munched on his fourth biscuit. “I’ll give you the one my mum knits me this Christmas, I always get one from her. You don’t mind maroon, do you?” Dobby beamed. “We might have to shrink it a bit to fit you, but it’ll go well with your tea cozy.” Chrys tried not to laugh.

On their way out, the other house-elves eagerly offered them more snacks to take with them upstairs. Hermione refused, but the house-elves looked so disappointed, and the pastries look so delicious, so Chrys, Harry, and Ron loaded up their pockets.

“Thanks a lot!” Harry told them. “See you, Dobby!”

“Harry Potter…” Dobby hesitated. “Can Dobby come and see you sometimes, sir?”

“Course you can,” Harry said. Dobby grinned.

“And me too,” Chrys added. She looked around and then bent down, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Let me know if there’s anything we can do for Winky, okay?” Dobby nodded.

“You know what?” Ron said, as they headed upstairs. “All these years I’ve been really impressed with Fred and George, nicking food from the kitchens—well, it’s not extremely difficult, is it? They can’t wait to give it away!”

“I think this is the best thing that could have happened to those elves, you know,” Hermione said, ignoring him. “Dobby coming to work here, I mean. The other elves will see how happy he is, being free, and slowly it’ll dawn on them that they want that too!”

“Let’s hope they don’t look too closely at Winky,” Harry said dryly.

“Oh, she’ll cheer up,” Hermione said, a little doubtfully.

Chrys frowned. “I don’t know, Hermione. Even if it wasn't, like, a healthy environment for her to be in... She worked for Crouch her whole life, and then was separated from him so suddenly and painfully… I doubt she’ll just get over it.”

“Once the shock’s worn off, and she’s gotten used to Hogwarts, she’ll see how much better off she is without that man.”

“She seems to love him,” Ron said, his voice muffled by the cream cake he’d just started on.

“Doesn’t think much of Bagman, though, does she?” Harry said. “Wonder what Crouch says at home about him?”

“Probably says he’s no a very good Head of Department,” Hermione thought. “And let’s face it… he’s got a point, hasn’t he?”

“I’d still rather work for him than old Crouch,” Ron thought. “At least Bagman’s got a sense of humor.” Hermione smiled slightly.

“Don’t let Percy hear you saying that.”

“Yeah, well, Percy wouldn’t want to work for anyone with a sense of humor, would he?” Ron figured. He pulled a chocolate éclair out of his pocket. “Percy wouldn’t recognize a joke if it danced naked in front of him wearing Dobby’s tea cozy.”


	21. Of Asking and Answering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, we are coming up on the last chapters I have pre-written, so updates will probably be slower from now on. Thank you for continuing to read and comment!

Towards the end of their Transfiguration lesson, Chrys and Parvati were collecting the guinea fowl they had been transforming into guinea pigs.

“Mine still has feathers,” Neville said miserably as Chrys grabbed it.

“Yeah, well, Dean’s still had talons,” Chrys told him, glad she was wearing her dragon hide gloves. She placed Neville’s guinea pig into the cage Parvati was holding. “I think that’s the last one…” She looked around the room. She snorted as she saw Harry and Ron play sword fighting with a pair of Fred and George’s fake wands, which had turned into a rubber fish and a tin parrot, respectfully. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Parvati grunted. “This is getting heavy.”

“Let me help you.” They carried it together to the front of the room and placed it on Professor McGonagall’s desk.

“Thank you, Miss Potter and Miss Patil.” She nodded at them. “Now, if you would please return to your seats, I have an announcement to make before the end of class.” They sat down. “So, soon there will be—”

“Ha!” Ron said exclaimed as he stabbed Harry’s fish with his parrot’s beak.

“Potter! Weasley!” Professor McGonagall said sharply. “Will you _pay attention!”_ Harry and Ron jumped and looked up at her. “Now that Potter and Weasley have been kind enough to act their age…” She glared at them as Harry’s fish head fell off. “…I have something to say to you all. The Yule Ball is approaching—“

"The what?" Chrys whispered to Hermione, who shushed her.

“A traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and an opportunity for us to socialize with our foreign guests," Professor McGonagall continued. "Now, the ball will be open only to fourth years and above—although you may invite a younger student if you wish—” Lavender giggled. Parvati elbowed her warningly, though she was clearly struggling not to laugh as well. For some reason, they both looked back at Harry. “Dress robes will be worn—” Ron groaned. Professor McGonagall ignored him this time. “And the ball will start at eight o’clock on Christmas Day, finishing at Midnight in the Great Hall. Now then…” She looked around at them. “The Yule Ball is of course a chance for us all to—er—let our hair down.” She sniffed disapprovingly. Lavender started giggling again, hiding her mouth behind her hand. Chrys looked up at Professor McGonagall’s hair, which was, as always, pulled back in a tight bun. “But that does _not_ mean that we will be relaxing the standards of behavior we expect from Hogwarts students. I will be most seriously displeased if any Gryffindor student embarrasses the school in any way.” The bell rang. The students got to their feet, packing up their bags. “Mr. Potter—a word, if you please.”

Harry hung back as Ron quickly snuck out with Chrys and Hermione.

“What do you think she wanted to speak to him for?” Ron wondered, swinging his tin parrot thoughtfully.

“Oh, put that away,” Hermione said irritably. Ron shrugged and stuffed it into his bag. “And Professor McGonagall probably wanted to speak to Harry about opening the dance.”

“What?” Chrys said as Ron looked at Hermione confusedly.

“Opening the dance,” Hermione repeated slowly. “It’s tradition for the champions to have the first dance.”

She was right. “I’ve been specifically ordered by Professor McGonagall to find someone to go to the dance with,” Harry groaned.

“Oh come on,” Ron said. “You beat a Horntail, asking a girl to a dance should be a cinch.”

“Think I’d go another round with the Horntail,” he muttered. Chrys patted him on the back.

During Care of Magical Creatures, Harry took a break from groaning about the Ball in order to ask Hagrid how his interview with Skeeter had gone.

“She din’ seem very int’rested in magical creatures, ter tell yeh the truth,” he said. He looked around to make sure the other students were busy with preparing food for the skrewts and then leaned in closer. “She jus’ wanted me ter talk about you, Harry. Well, I told her we’d been friends since I went ter fetch yeh from the Dursleys…” Chrys smiled slightly. “‘Never had to tell them off in four years?’ she said. ‘Never played up in lessons, have they?’ I told him no, an’ she didn’ seem happy at all. Yeh’d think she wanted me to say yeh were horrible.”

“Course she did. She can’t keep writing about what a tragic little hero, I am, it’ll get boring.” Harry threw his chopped dragon liver into the mixing bowl with a little too much force. It splattered the front of Hermione’s robes. She glared at him. “Whoops… sorry, Hermione.” Hagrid handed her a large handkerchief.

“She wants a new angle, Hagrid,” Ron figured. “You were supposed to say Harry’s a mad delinquent!”

“But he’s not!” Hagrid said, surprised.

“She should’ve interviewed Snape,” Harry said grimly. “He’d give her the goods on me any day. _Potter has been crossing lines ever since he arrived at this school…”_ Chrys, Ron, and Hermione laughed at his impression of Snape’s deep whining voice.

“He said that, did he?” Hagrid smiled slightly. “Well, yeh might’ve bent a few rules, Harry, bu’ yeh’re all righ’ really, aren’ you?”

Harry grinned. “Cheers, Hagrid.”

“Hold on, Hermione, you’ve got a bit of…” Ron reached over and pulled a piece of dragon liver out of her hair.

“Gross…” Her nose wrinkled. “Really, Harry. It’s not sanitary.”

“I did apologize…”

“What if we had been in Potions? Imagine how Professor Snape would react to you handling ingredients like that.”

“Well, we’re not in potions, are we?” Harry pointed out.

Ron looked at them thoughtfully.

“You coming to this ball thing on Christmas Day, Hagrid?” He asked.

“Though’ I might look in on it, yeah…” Hagrid glanced up the hill at the Beauxbatons carriage. “Should be a good do, I reckon. You’ll be openin’ the dancin’, won’ yeh, Harry? Who’re you takin’?”

Harry blushed. “No one, yet.”

Over the next week several girls asked him. The first he was so surprised by that he automatically said no. Then on their way back from Herbology, an extremely tall and muscular prefect ambushed him. Harry said no as politely as possible.

He shuddered. “I thought she’d knock me out if I refused…”

Hermione patted his arm, her lips twitching. Then she saw her watch.

“Oh no! I wanted to get to Arithmancy early—I’ve got a question for Professor Vector about the homework… I’ll see you later!” She waved as she ran up to the castle.

“She was quite good-looking,” Ron said, after he’d stopped laughing.

“She was about a foot taller than me,” Harry said, his eyes wide. “Imagine what I’d like trying to dance with her.” Chrys shrugged.

“I can’t see why it matters. It’s not like you know how to dance in the first place.”

Harry groaned. “Thanks, Chrys, that makes me feel loads better.”

“No problem.”

“Ah, hold on…” Ron was attempting to stuff his entire cloak into his bag. “No good.” He shook his head. “I’ll just run and throw it upstairs—meet you in class.” Harry and Chrys started up the stairs towards Divination.

“Besides…” Harry said quietly. “I doubt any of them would’ve asked me if I wasn’t _Harry Potter_ or a _Triwizard Champion_.”

“Well you are, both of those,” she reminded him. He sighed. “Are you going to ask anyone? What about Cho Chang?”

He flushed. “C-Cho? I dunno… I’d like to, but… I don’t know, she travels with this whole pack of girls, and she’s a year older than me, and very pretty, and a very good Quidditch player, and just… all around very popular…” He ran his hand through his hair, staring off into the distance. Then he looked back at Chrys. “What about you? Anyone you’d like to ask?”

Now she flushed. “Well, there is this one person… but he’s older too, and fairly popular, so he’s probably already going with someone…” Chrys shook herself. “Anyway, we’ve got a more immediate problem. Snape’s exam is tomorrow.”

“Evil, he is,” Ron said that night. “Ruining the last bit of term with a whole load of studying.”

“What is the antidote to Malaria?” Hermione asked in crisp voice.

“Penicillin,” Chrys said. Hermione frowned at her over the top of her potions notes.

“The _wizarding_ antidote, Chrys—and it’s Ron’s turn!”

“It is?” Ron blinked. “Well, I’ve got no idea.” He picked up another Exploding Snaps card, and gingerly added it to the tower he and Chrys were building. Whenever one of them got a question wrong, they had to add another card. With every card added, it had a higher chance of exploding.

“The correct answer is: Ashwinder eggs.” Hermione sighed. “You’re not exactly straining yourself, Ron.”

“It’s Christmas, Hermione,” Harry said. He was snuggled into an armchair by the fire, watching the players in his Quidditch book zip through the photos.

Hermione squinted at him. “I’d have thought you’d be doing something constructive, Harry, even if you don’t want to learn your antidotes!”

Harry turned the page. “Like what?”

“That egg!” Hermione hissed.

“Come on, Hermione, I’ve got till February the twenty-forth,” he reminded her.

“But it might take weeks to work it out! You’re going to look a real idiot if everyone else knows what the next task is and you don’t!”

“Leave him alone, Hermione,” Ron said defensively. “He’s earned a bit of a break.”

“And besides,” Chrys said, pushing her glasses up her nose. “All us Potters look like geniuses.” Ron snorted.

“Okay, genius,” Hermione said. “Chrys—what is the main ingredient in the Antidote to Common Poisons?”

“Ooh.” Chrys grinned. “I know this one! A bezoar.”

Hermione nodded. “Correct. Ron, what can the Wideye Potion be used as an antidote for?”

“Er… droopy eyes?” Ron tried. Chrys laughed. “Okay, so… apparently not.” He put another card on the tower. It exploded, singeing his eyebrows. Chrys laughed again.

“Nice look, Ron…” Fred said as he and George sat down at the table with them. “Go well with your dress robes, that will.” Ron scowled, feeling his eyebrows.

“Ron, can we borrow Pigwidegon?” George asked.

“No, he’s off delivering a letter. Why?”

“Because George wants to invite him to the ball,” Fred said sarcastically.

“Because _we_ want to send a letter, you stupid great prat,” George grumbled.

“Who d’you two keep writing to, eh?” Ron asked curious.

“Nose out, or I’ll burn that for you too,” Fred said, raising his wand.

“Leave off him,” Chrys said. “Whatever’s got you on edge, it’s not his fault… probably.” Fred frowned. “I’ll lend you Hedwig, if you like.”

“Thanks.” George smiled.

“Just don’t get fresh with her,” Chrys warned them. “She’s as prideful as a hippogriff.”

Harry nodded. “We’ll keep that in mind.” Fred studied Chrys thoughtfully. “So… you lot got dates for the ball yet?” Chrys froze.

“Nope,” Ron said.

“Well, you’d better hurry up, mate, or all the good ones will be gone,” Fred said. Hermione frowned. Chrys raised an eyebrow at him.

“Good ones?”

“Who’re you going with, then?” Ron asked Fred.

“Good point…” Fred tilted his head. Chrys wondered if he could hear her heart thudding in her chest. Then he turned and called across the room, “Oi! Angelina!”

Chrys’ heart sank.

Angelina turned from her conversation with Alicia.

“What?” She called back.

Fred grinned. “Want to come to the ball with me?”

Angelina looked him over for a moment. “All right, then.” She turned back to talk to Alicia, smiling a bit.

“There you go,” Fred said to Ron. “Piece of cake.” He got to his feet, yawning. “Thanks for the owl, Chrys.” George stared at him. “Come on—”

“Wait!” Chrys stood up. They stared at her. “Er…” Her face was hot. She would very much like to hide under the table. “George—are you going with anyone yet?”

Ron’s jaw dropped, his fingers frozen on his eyebrows. Harry dropped his book.

“No…” George glanced at Fred, and then turned back to Chrys, smirking. “You?”

“No…”

There was a long pause.

“Well, that’s just ridiculous,” George said lightly. “Whatever shall we do?”

His casual tone was a relief. She smiled. “I’ve got a crazy idea.”

He smiled back. “My favorite kind.”

“We could go together.”

George clapped his hands together. “Excellent problem solving skills, Chrysanthemum. I’ll see you there.” He walked off, waving at her over his shoulder. Fred glanced at him, then at Chrys, and raced off to follow him.

“Well, not exactly a piece of cake,” Chrys thought as she sat down. “But manageable, I suppose…” Harry, Ron, and Hermione were staring at her. “You know what, I think I’ve had enough studying—I’m going to bed—goodnight!” She hurried away.


	22. Of Feathers and Flushed Faces

When Chrys and Hermione got down to dinner on Friday night, Harry and Ron were nowhere to be seen.

“Ooh, Chrys!” Lavender waved her over. Chrys and Hermione sat across from her and Parvati. “What are you two wearing next week?”

Chrys and Hermione frowned at each other.

“No idea,” Chrys said honestly. Lavender nodded.

“It’s hard to choose, isn’t it? I mean, I brought a pair of dress robes with me, like the supplies list said—but that was before I knew they were for a ball, wasn’t it? The ones I brought are _much_ too formal. So, I got a few things by owl order, but it’s always so hard to tell the sizing—”

“So we’re going to look in Hogsmeade tomorrow,” Parvati interjected. “Do you two want to join? Padma and a few girls from Ravenclaw are coming too.”

“Sorry,” Hermione said. “We’re already going with Ginny Weasley.” Chrys looked at her. They were? Lavender waved her hand.

“Bring her too. The more the merrier, right?”

“Since when were we going with Ginny to get dress robes?” Chrys wondered as they headed upstairs. “Third years aren’t even allowed to go to the ball.”

“They are if an older student asks them,” Hermione reminded her. “Neville asked her.”

Chrys blinked. “He did? That’s… brave of him. But how does Neville even know Ginny?”

Hermione smiled slightly. “Well, I may have suggested it. I knew she wanted to go because that band you two like is playing—”

“The Weird Sisters really are playing? I thought that was just a rumor!”

“No. Professor Flitwick told me himself. Anyway, I knew Ginny wanted to go, and Neville didn’t have anyone yet, so…” Hermione shrugged.

“Well… she could’ve gone with Harry,” Chrys thought. “She’s fancied him since she was little.”

“She fancies the _idea_ of him,” Hermione said. Chrys frowned. “She can’t be waiting around for Harry to suddenly notice her.” She stuck her chin up determinedly. “She’s got to live her life to the fullest.”

“Yes… I suppose so.” Chrys wondered if Hermione was still speaking about Ginny.

Chrys and Hermione stepped through the portrait hole. They spotted Ron and Harry sitting in the corner with Ginny. Harry and Ron were laughing hysterically.

“What’s the joke?” Chrys wondered, sitting next to Ginny. Harry and Ron just continued laughing. Ginny frowned.

“It’s really not funny.”

“Why weren’t you two at dinner?” Hermione asked them.

“Because—” Ginny started. Harry and Ron were still laughing. “—Oh shut up laughing, you two—” They did not. “—Because they’ve both just been turned down by girls they asked to the ball.” That did it. Harry and Ron sobered immediately.

“Thanks a bunch, Ginny,” Ron muttered.

“All the good-looking ones taken, Ron?” Hermione said smugly. Ron’s eyes snapped to her. “Eloise Midgen starting to look quite pretty now, is she? Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone somewhere who’ll have you.”

“Hermione, Neville’s right—you _are_ a girl…” He realized.

Chrys shot Harry a confused look. Harry just grimaced as Hermione glared.

“Oh well spotted.”

“Well—you can come with one of us.” Ron motioned at Harry and himself.

“No, I can’t,” Hermione snapped. Chrys looked at her curiously.

“Oh come on,” Ron said impatiently. “We need partners, we’re going to look really stupid if we haven’t got any, everyone else has… even Chrys…”

“What do you mean, _even_ me!” Chrys said.

“Well, if you were going to go with a Weasley, you could’ve gone with me, couldn’t you?” Ron grumbled. Chrys rolled her eyes.

“Right, because you’re all interchangeable. Anyway, I sort of thought you’d ask Hermione…”

Ron’s eyes widened. Hermione avoided his gaze. 

“Listen, I can’t come with you,” she told Ron. “Because I’m already going with someone.”

“No, you’re not!” Ron said. “You just said that to get rid of Neville!”

“Oh _did_ I?” She glared at him. “Just because it’s taken _you_ three years to notice, Ron, doesn’t mean no one _else_ has spotted I’m a girl!”

Ron stared at her… then he grinned.

“Okay, okay, we know you’re a girl. That do? Will you come now?”

“I’ve already told you!” Hermione said angrily. “I’m going with someone else!” And with that, she stomped off to the dorms.

“She’s lying,” Ron said, watching her back.

“She’s not,” Ginny said. They all looked at her.

“Who is it then?” Ron wanted to know.

Ginny shook her head. “I’m not telling you, it’s her business.”

Ron looked at Chrys. “I’m just as surprised as you,” she said, frowning. “Ginny, how come she didn’t tell me?”

“Oh…” Ginny shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. “Well, you tell Harry everything, and Harry tells Ron everything, and she doesn’t want Ron to know, so…”

“She’s got a point,” Harry thought.

“Right.” Ron tensed. “This is getting stupid. Ginny, _you_ can go with Harry, and I’ll just—”

“I can’t.” Ginny turned as red as her hair. “I’m going with—with Neville.” Ron and Harry stared at her. “He asked me when Hermione said no, and I thought… well… I’m not going to be able to go otherwise, I’m not in fourth year.” She studied her shoelaces. “I think I’ll go and have dinner.” She stood up and left.

Ron turned to Harry. “What’s got into them?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chrys asked defensively.

“Well, I mean, _Neville_?”

“At least he had the nerve to ask,” Chrys pointed out.

“And who’s Hermione going with?”

“I told you, I have no idea—”

“Who do you think, Harry?” Ron turned to him, but he had gotten up and was talking to Pavarti and Lavender by the portrait hole. Ron’s eyes widened. “You don’t think he’s…”

Chrys studied the tenseness of Harry’s back. “Looks like it.”

Ron swallowed. “This ball is going to kill me, Chrys.”

Early next evening, Chrys navigated through the crowd in the common room. Usually it was fairly empty at this time of year, but nearly every fourth year and up had signed up to stay in the castle over the holidays, for the ball, of course.

Ron and Harry were sitting on the carpet by the fire playing chess.

“As much as I hate to admit it, I understand your feelings, Ron,” she said, flopping down next to them. “This ball is going to kill me.”

She watched one of Ron’s knights behead one of Harry’s pawns.

“But you got a date straight away,” Ron said. “Even if it is _George_ …” He made a face.

“I don’t mean _that_.” Chrys waved her hand. “It’s the shopping—I’ve spent the past five hours passing Lavender robes—she tried on sixteen pairs— _sixteen,_ Ron—that’s more clothing than I’ve owned in my whole life, probably. And poor Seamus was listening to her for ages about the difference between _cool_ tones, and _warm_ tones so they could coordinate their outfits.”

“Seems like I dodged a bludger there,” Ron said. “Could’ve been me going with her…”

“Cake?” A random sixth year asked them. “We’ve got leftover from a birthday.” Chrys, Harry, and Ron eyed the piece of cake dubiously.

“Likely story,” Chrys said. “We’re no idiots, go and try someone else.”

The sixth year shrugged and went off to do just that. A moment later, there was a flurry of feathers and a seventh year turned into a giant canary. People had taken to hiding Canary Creams in everything. The common room was nearly always filled with feathers these days.

“Honestly, it’s getting a bit old,” Ron said, shaking his head.

“Well, it’s good they’ve been such a success,” Chrys figured.

“You’re both right,” Fred said, sitting down next to them. Chrys suddenly focused very hard on the chessboard. “The Canary Creams have been a great success, but they are getting a bit boring…”

“So we’re working on something new,” George said cheerfully. “We’ll let you know before it comes out, eh, Chrys?” He nudged her. “We’d love it if you drew us another poster…”

Chrys had drawn a moving picture of a person turning into a canary and snuck it onto the announcement board in the Entrance Hall without explanation. Professor McGonagall had been suspicious, but, as Hermione later pointed out, there weren’t technically any rules against putting up drawings. And mystery of the poster had drawn in a good crowd from the other houses, George had told Chrys. He grinned.

She smiled back at him.

“Sure. But you shouldn’t advertise right away—the surprise is half the fun, isn’t it?”

“Definitely,” Fred and George agreed.

“Thanks, Chrys,” George said. They stood up. “Oh—and Harry, you’d better pull back your queen—Ron’s closing in.” Harry blinked.

“Huh, he’s right.” He called back his queen as Fred and George left. Ron grumbled. “Still, remind me never to accept so much as a crisp from them in the future—I haven’t forgotten Dudley and the Ton-Tongue Toffee.”

Over the next week, Chrys finally got Hagrid to get her close to Madame Maxime’s Abraxan horses. Madame Maxime was suspicious at first, keeping a close eye on them from outside her carriage. But after Chrys was done with her sketch, Hagrid proudly showed it to Madame Maxime, who broke into a smile and asked if she could keep it.

“So, I’ll be going down to another one for myself tomorrow,” Chrys told Harry, Ron, and Hermione at dinner. She looked around at the table. “Stew again? Excellent, my hands are frozen—feel my hands, Harry.” She touched his neck. He yelped and swatted her away.

“That’s nice,” Ron said distractedly. He was watching Fleur Delacour complain.

“It is too ‘eavy, all zis ‘Ogwarts food. I will not fit into my dress robes!”

“Ooh, there’s a tragedy,” Hermione muttered. “She really thinks a lot of herself, that one, doesn’t she?”

“Hermione—who are you going to the ball with?” Ron asked.

“He’s still on that?” Chrys asked Harry. Ron kept asking her at random intervals.

Harry nodded solemnly. “Afraid so.” He looked at Hermione. “Why don’t you just tell him and put him out of his misery?”

Hermione frowned. “I won’t. He’ll just make fun of me.”

“I won’t!” Ron said. “Just tell me who you’re going with!”

“You’re joking, Weasley!” Malfoy said from behind them. “You’re not telling me someone’s asked _that_ to the ball? Not the long-molared Mudblood?” Chrys growled. Harry and Ron pulled out their wands.

Hermione waved to someone over Malfoy’s shoulder. “Hello, Professor Moody!” She called out. Malfoy paled and jumped back from them, looking around wildly. He spotted Moody, still sitting at the staff table. “Twitchy little ferret, aren’t you, Malfoy?” He flushed and slipped off.

They all laughed. “Hermione,” Ron said, staring at her. “Your teeth…”

“What about them?”

“Well, they’re different… I’ve just noticed…”

“Of course they are—did you expect me to keep those fangs Malfoy gave me?”

“I’m done,” Chrys said, pushing her bowl of stew away. “Let’s go back to the common room—I’m still a bit cold.”

“You shouldn’t eat so quickly, Chrys,” Hermione said as they stood. “And you should wear more layers when you’re out—”

“I mean, your teeth are different to how they were before Malfoy put that hex on you,” Ron continued as they exited the Great Hall. “They’re all… straight and—and normal-sized.”

Hermione smiled mischievously. Harry stared at her. Hermione admitted she had let Madam Pomfrey shrink them a bit smaller than they had been.

“You two really only just noticed now?” Chrys asked, surprised. “You’re usually more observant than that, Harry.”

“Well, I have been busy,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, fighting dragons, asking girls to the ball, that’s a pretty good reason to be distracted,” Chrys admitted. Ron looked at her.

“Speaking of asking girls to the ball—I heard Megan Jones from Hufflepuff asked you?”

Chrys felt her face grow hot. “Well, yes…”

Ron shook his head. “Too bad you’re not a bloke. You could’ve gone with her.”

Chrys stopped walking. “Us both being girls isn’t why I said no.” They all stopped walking. It suddenly felt very quiet. She took a deep breath. “I said no because I’m already going with George, otherwise… I mean, she’s very pretty, isn’t she?”

“Definitely.” Ron nodded. “Much prettier than George. Ditch him and go with her instead.” Chrys let out a relieved laugh.

They started walking again. “She’s a good flier too,” Harry put in.

“But she’s a bit rude, isn’t she?” Hermione thought. “She and Wayne Hopkins are always making fun of Hannah Abbott, just because she’s a little clumsy. You can do better, Chrys.” Chrys glanced at her. Hermione smiled encouragingly. Then she stopped suddenly. “Look—Pigwidgeon’s back!”

Pig was flying around the glittering icicles decorating the corridor ceiling.

A group of girls passing by giggled. “Oh look at the weeny owl! Isn’t he _cute?”_

“Stupid little feathery git!” Ron hissed, racing up the stairs to snatch him up. “You bring letters to the addressee—you don’t hang around showing off!” Pig hooted happily, his head sticking out of Ron’s fist. The group of girls stared at Ron in surprise. “Clear off!” Ron waved his Pigwidgeon fist at them. They scurried away.

“You’re the git,” Chrys told him. “All they said was he’s cute.”

“Yeah, but…” Ron looked around. “This is Sirius’ reply, isn’t it? Don’t want them to see it.” He pulled it off Pigwidegon’s leg. “Here—take it, Harry.”

They walked faster up to Gryffindor Tower.

Chrys and Harry settled on her favorite window seat, while Ron and Hermione stood to block them from view—not that anybody seemed to be paying them any attention.

“ _Dear Harry,”_ Harry read quietly.

_“Congratulations on getting past the Horntail! Whoever put your name in that goblet shouldn’t be feeling too happy right now! I was going to suggest a Conjunctivitis Curse, as a dragon’s eyes are its weakest point—”_

“That’s what Krum did!” Hermione interjected.

Chrys frowned. “How does Sirius know this exactly? He better not have gone around poking dragons in the eye in his youth…”

 _“Don’t get complacent, though, Harry_ ,” Harry continued. _“You’ve only done one task—whoever put you in for the tournament’s got plenty more opportunity if they’re trying to hurt you.”_ Chrys and Hermione gave him ‘I told you so’ looks. _“— Particularly when the person we discussed is around—_ “ Chrys frowned. She hadn’t thought much about Karkaroff since after the first task… “— _And concentrate on keeping yourself out of trouble._ ” Chrys snorted.

“That’s likely.”

Harry elbowed her. _“Keep in touch, I still want to hear about anything unusual, Sirius.”_ Harry shook his head, tucking the parchment away in his robes. “He sounds like Moody. Constant vigilance! You’d think I walk around with my eyes shut, banging off the walls…”

“You do bang into walls sometimes, when you’re lost in your thoughts,” Chrys pointed out.

“And he’s right, Harry, that you still have got two tasks to do,” Hermione said. “You really ought to have a look at that egg, you know, and start working out what it means…”

“Hermione, he’s got ages!” Ron said. “Want a game of chess, Harry?”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry said. Hermione grimaced. “Come on, how’m I supposed to concentrate with all this noise going on?” As if to make his point, Fred and Angelina passed by, having a very passionate argument about some Quidditch move. Chrys felt her stomach squirm. “I won’t even be able to hear the egg over this lot.” Now, _that_ Chrys found unlikely.

“Oh I suppose not,” Hermione relented. She sighed as Ron pulled one of the tables over to the window seat. “Do try and beat him this time, Harry.”

He did not.


	23. Of Yule and Fools

Chrys had stayed up late Christmas Eve, drawing personalized cards until she thought her wrist would fall off.

“Only a small sip,” Parvati warned, handing over a painkiller potion.

“Got it.” Chrys took a small sip and then handed it back.

“I know wrist cramps can be painful, but it doesn’t do it rely on potions too much,” Parvati continued. “I think Padma knows some stretches. You should ask her.”

“Will do,” Chrys said, pulling on last year’s Weasley jumper. Hermione frowned.

“Are you going out? It’s past curfew.”

Lavender scoffed. “Like you’ve never been out past curfew,” she pointed out. Hermione smiled sheepishly.

“I’m just going to send these so they’ll arrive by tomorrow,” Chrys told her, holding up Remus, Sirius, and the Weasley family’s cards.

“This is cutting it close. They might not make it,” Hermione thought. Chrys shrugged.

“I’d still like to try.”

“Well… try not to get caught,” Hermione said. “Triwizard Tournament or not, I’d still like us to win the House Cup.”

“Hear, hear,” Parvati said, yawning as she settled into bed.

Harry had the invisibility cloak, so Chrys tried out the disillusionment charm she had been researching. After a twist of her wand, a feeling like a cold raw egg trickled down her neck. She shivered and looked down at herself. There was a slight blur where her legs should be, but overall she thought it had worked fairly well.

“Who’s there?” The Fat Lady said sleepily as the portrait swung open. She looked around and, seeing nothing, closed her eyes again.

Chrys held back a chuckle and moved down the hall, listening to the sounds of the Fat Lady’s snores.

She got up to the owlery without much trouble and sent off the letters.

She checked her watch. It was nearly midnight. She had time to pop down to the kitchens and give Dobby his card before the castle’s morning routine started up.

She pulled open the fruit bowl portrait by the green pear handle. On the other side of the room, George turned to look at the portrait hole.

 _“Finite incantum_.” Chrys waved her wand.

“Oh.” George smiled slightly as she walked over to him. He was sitting on a cushion in front of the fire, holding a mug in his hands. “Nice spellwork, Chrysanthemum.”

“Thanks.”

“And you finally found out where the kitchens were, huh?”

Chrys waved her hand. “I figured that out ages ago.”

He nodded. “I thought you might have—since Lee said he let slip about the portrait. Clever of you, getting that out of him.” He sipped his drink.

She shrugged. “He just needed a friendly ear, someone to laugh at his jokes. They’re not half bad, actually.” She sat down next to him. Immediately, a house elf appeared with a cushion for her. “Oh, thanks.” She took the cushion and sat on it.

“Would sir like a refill?” A house elf asked George.

He nodded. “Yeah, thanks, Milly.”

Milly rushed off. Another house elf looked questioningly at Chrys.

“Would miss like a hot cocoa?”

“Yes please.” Chrys smiled. “And is Dobby around?” The house elf’s face scrunched up slightly, as another brought her a mug.

“I will fetch him, miss.”

“Thanks.” Chrys sipped her cocoa.

She and George sat in companionable silence for a moment.

“I met him,” George said. “Dobby. Seems nice. A little odd, but I like that.” Chrys smiled.

“Me too.”

George nodded. “Yeah…”

Chrys studied him. “Is something wrong, George?”

He blinked. “Ah… sort of. I had a bit of a row with Fred.”

“Oh.” Chrys took another sip of her drink. “That’s…”

“Not as unusual as you might think,” he told her, smiling slightly. “We get on each other’s nerves easily, we just make up easily as well… well, usually, that is.”

“He can be annoying,” Chrys agreed. George laughed. “Want to talk about it?”

George sighed. “He just… he just does things, without having to think about it too much. It’s annoying, but sometimes I wish I could be like that too, you know?”

“Hmmm.” She tilted her head. “Yeah, I think so. But he can take it too far, sometimes, I think. Overthinking things can be frustrating, but so can being thoughtless.”

“So… all in moderation, then?”

“Well, maybe, I don’t know, I’m not great with moderation.” She downed the rest of her cocoa and nearly choked on it. George thumped her on the back. “Thanks…” She rubbed her throat. “I just meant… I don’t think Fred’s way of doing things is any better or worse than your way of doing things. It’s just… different.”

George stared at her for a moment and then grinned.

“You might have a point.” He stood up. “I think I’ll go to bed now. You?”

“I’m waiting for Dobby…” She looked around the kitchen. There were a few house elves washing dishes, or chatting to each other in low voices, but it was much less busy than the previous time she had been here.

“Want me to wait up with you?” George offered.

“No, no, I’m fine.” She waved her hand. “Goodnight, George.”

“Night, Chrys.” He ruffled her hair and then headed out through the portrait hole.

Not long after George left, Dobby appeared in front of her.

“Chrys Potter!” He said excitedly. “Dobby is sorry for taking so long, miss.”

“It’s fine, Dobby, it’s fine,” she assured him, standing up. “I’m sure you’re a busy elf, I just wanted to give this to you…” She rummaged in her pajama trousers’ pocket and came up with the slightly crumbled card. He took it, staring in awe at the drawing of a Christmas tree, decorating with lighting up socks instead of baubles.

“This… this is beautiful, Miss,” he said tearfully.

She grinned. “Merry Christmas, Dobby.”

“And Dobby has a present for Chrys Potter as well!” He said. “One moment, miss.” He disappeared and then reappeared again, holding a small neatly wrapped package. Chrys unwrapped it with great curiosity. It was a pair of socks, one green with a pattern of gold quills on it, and another gold with a pattern of little green inkwells. “It is Dobby’s new hobby, Miss—making socks! Dobby is buying the wool with his wages.”

“These are brilliant, Dobby!”

Dobby beamed. “Thank you, miss. Dobby has a present for Harry Potter as well—should Dobby give it to him now? Dobby can pop up to Gryffindor Tower…”

Chrys thought for a moment. “Maybe wait a while. He’s probably still sleeping.”

The next morning, Chrys received plenty more presents. As was tradition for the last couple of years, Chrys gathered everything up in her blanket and moved to take it to the boys’ dorm to open them with Harry and Ron.

However, when she got down to the common room she found them waiting on the couch. Harry was already wearing his new Weasley jumper, green with a Hungarian Horntail on it.

“You didn’t wait!” Chrys grumbled.

“Sorry, Dobby woke us up early, so we figured we might as well go ahead,” Harry explained.

She tugged on his jumper. “I’m jealous.”

“She’ll have made one for you as well,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, but…” Chrys opened her package from Mrs. Weasley. Her jumper was red with a gold image of a Hedwig-like owl on the front. She pouted. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but…” Ron rolled his eyes.

“Honestly, you’re getting almost as bad as Charlie. The two of you and Hagrid need to start some sort of club…”

“Tell you what,” Harry said. “I’ll give you mine if you give me your fudge.” He pointed at the box of homemade fudge Mrs. Weasley had sent her. Chrys considered.

“Yeah, okay.” They made the trade. Harry munched on the fudge as Chrys and Hermione opened their presents. The presents Hermione received were mostly books.

Chrys had gotten a couple of wizarding comics from Ron, a new sketchbook from Hermione, and a subscription to a magi-zoology journal from Padma.

“You’ve missed one.” Ron pointed at a small package still tangled in her blanket. Chrys fished it out and turned it over. It was wrapped in indistinct brown paper.

“Wonder who it’s from.”

“Dobby?” Harry guessed.

“Nope. Got his last night.” Chrys plopped her foot on his knee so he could see her socks. “Or early this morning, whatever.”

“Nice.” Harry shoved her leg off.

“Well, open it, then,” Ron said impatiently. Chrys tore off the paper to find a small pouch and a slightly creased note.

She went for the note first.

_Chrys,_

_Bill mentioned you liked his earring. I couldn’t remember if your ears were pierced or not, so I got this for you. My friend Bianca makes them. I’ve included their business card in case anybody you know is interested._

_Merry Christmas,  
Charlie Weasley_

_P.S. It’s from a common Welsh Green, in case you’re curious._

Chrys excitedly opened the pouch as the others read the note.

“Bianca…” Hermione said thoughtfully. Chrys happily studied the fang the size of her thumb hanging on a leather cord. “Didn’t we meet her our first year? She came to get Norbert.”

“Right.” Chrys nodded. “Harry thought she was cute.” Harry pursed his lips, picking at a thread on his trousers.

Ron frowned. “I can’t believe he got you something—he didn’t get me anything!” He crossed his arms over his chest. Hermione winced.

“Did you send him anything?” Chrys wondered, pulling the cord over her head.

“No…” Ron said slowly. His brow furrowed. “Did you?”

“I included him and Bill on the Christmas card I sent to your parents,” she told him. “But I only gave actual presents to you, Ginny, and Hermione.” She’d given Ron and Ginny each a mixed bag of their favorite sweets from Honeydukes, and Hermione a new quill. She’d also pitched in with Parvati and Lavender to get Padma an expensive Experimental Charms course book, but that was a group gift so she figured it didn’t count.

“Oh.” Ron rubbed the back of his neck.

“What about me?” Harry said in mock-indignation.

“You’ve got fudge all over your face, you ungrateful git,” Chrys shot back.

After the big Christmas lunch, the Potters and the Weasleys launched into their annual snowball fight. Hermione chose to watch this time, rather than participate.

At about five, she crept up to Chrys and Ginny’s fort and tapped Chrys on the shoulder.

Chrys jumped about a foot in the air and cursed. Ginny snickered.

“I’m going up to get ready for the ball,” Hermione said. “Either of you want to come?”

Chrys glanced at her watch and blinked. “You need three hours?”

“Yes, I do. Are you coming, or what?”

Ginny and Chrys looked at each other.

Ginny shrugged. “Might as well.” She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Oi! Boys, we’re leaving to get ready for the ball—this does _not_ count as a forfeit!”

“Chicken!” George called back. Ginny lobbed one last snowball his way. He ducked and it hit Fred instead. Chrys was fairly certain he’d done that on purpose.

“What, you need _three_ _hours_?” Ron said incredulously. Ginny made a rude gesture at him.

It turned out that Hermione needed three hours to do her hair.

“Sleekeazy’s,” Lavender said as Chrys examined the bottle of potion that Hermione had emptied onto her head. “I swear on the stuff.”

“Did you know your paternal grandfather invented it, Chrys?” Hermione said. Chrys put down the bottle.

“No… I did not.”

Lavender looked at her. “I don’t suppose you could get me any free samples?”

“Probably not,” Hermione said. “Fleamont Potter sold the company. You might still get some royalties, though.” Chrys made a noise of uncertainty. Ginny picked up the bottle.

“Must be nice,” she said quietly. “Not bothered about whether you’re receiving royalties or not.” The room fell into awkward silence.

“…I promise I’ll be more attentive with my finances in the future, Gin,” Chrys said, though she knew that wasn’t the issue.

“Also…” Lavender took the bottle from her. “I wouldn’t use that if I were you.” Ginny looked at her questioningly. “Well, it says ‘all hair types’ but there’s supposedly weird side affects for gingers.”

“…What kind of side effects?” Ginny wondered, curious. Lavender shrugged. “I’m tempted to try it just to find out.” Chrys grinned.

“Maybe not right before the ball,” Parvati suggested. Ginny nodded. “I’ve got coconut oil, if you want to try that instead. It won’t have much of an affect in one go, but it smells nice.”

Ginny and Chrys decided to try the coconut oil.

When Chrys got out of the shower, Lavender was twisting Hermione’s now sleek hair into a knot. “There,” Lavender said. “That should do it.”

Parvati held up a hand mirror. “Have a look.”

“Wow.” Hermione touched her hair gingerly. “Lavender, this is… thank you.”

Lavender grinned. “No problem. Who’s next?” She looked around the room. Ginny was sitting on Chrys’ bed, painting her toenails a pale pink. Parvati was braiding what looked like gold thread into her hair.

“Um, me, I guess, if you’re offering,” Chrys said uncertainly.

“Take a seat.” Lavender patted the bed in front of her. Chrys hopped up.

Hermione glanced at her watch before sliding it off and putting it on her bedside table.

“Well, I’d better get changed and go meet…” She cleared her throat. “And go.” She stepped into the bathroom.

“Who _is_ she going with?” Lavender asked Chrys. Chrys shrugged.

“She won’t tell anyone…” She glanced at Ginny. Ginny met her eyes and shook her head before focusing on her toenails again.

“It must be someone very scandalous, then,” Lavender said thoughtfully. Hermione came back out wearing the floaty periwinkle dress robes she’d bought on their shopping trip last week. Chrys smiled.

“You look great, ‘Mione.”

Lavender nodded appreciatively. “I knew that color would look gorgeous on you.”

Hermione blushed slightly. “Oh, well, thank you… I’ll see you all there, then.”

“See you,” Ginny said.

About half an hour later, the rest of them headed downstairs. The common room was half full of boys shuffling uncomfortably in their dress robes.

The boys’ dress robes were basically the same as the everyday robes, except closer cut and varying in color.

Harry was wearing green robes to match his eyes. And Ron…

Chrys touched the frayed edges where Ron appeared to have used a severing charm to cut off all the lace. He looked at her as if daring her to say something. She sighed.

“You, er, look nice,” Harry said awkwardly to Parvati.

“Thanks.” She turned to Ron. “Padma’s going to meet you in the entrance hall.”

“Right.” Ron looked at Chrys. “Where’s Hermione?”

“No idea,” Chrys said honestly. “What about George?”

“He’s right over…” Harry looked around his brow furrowing. “He _was_ right over there.” He motioned to where Lee was chatting with Alicia and Angelina.

“Probably ran back up to his dorm to get some dung bombs or something,” Ron thought.

Parvati made a face. “Lovely…” 

“Want us to wait with you?” Harry asked Chrys hopefully.

“Nah, go ahead,” Chrys said. Harry sighed and left with Parvati and Ron. Chrys waited a few minutes and then walked over to Lee.

“Hi, Chrys.” He smiled. “Is that a dragon fang necklace?” Chrys nodded, suddenly feeling shy. Angelina looked very pretty in her purple robes—her hair half up in tight braids against her scalp, and loose and soft in the back. It’s no wonder Fred had asked her… “Wicked.”

“Yeah, nice,” Angelina said distractedly.

“She’s annoyed cause Fred and George have off and disappeared somewhere,” Alicia told Chrys. Angelina pressed her lips together.

“If we miss the Weird Sisters because they’re setting up some prank, so help me—”

“Sorry we’re late!” The twins said, jogging up to them. They looked very handsome in matching ink blue robes.

“Shall we?” George offered his arm to Angelina. Chrys stared at him in confusion. Angelina considered him for a moment.

“We better not be late,” she warned him, taking his arm and pulling him out of the room.

Lee laughed. “Poor G—guy,” he said. Fred shot him a look. Alicia’s brow furrowed. “Come on.” Lee shepherded her to the portrait hole. “Let’s catch up.”

Fred went to follow, but Chrys stepped in front of him, her hand on her hip.

“Now hold on just one minute, Fred Weasley.”

Fred stiffened. Then he grinned at her.

“I’m George, remember?”

Chrys scoffed. “Yeah, and I’m Harry.”

He studied her. “Can you always tell us apart?” He asked, curious. She thought about it and then nodded. “How?”

“Well… I don’t know.” She went to tuck her hair behind her ears, but Lavender had done too good a job of plaiting it. She smoothed down the small braid at the side of her head, which fed into the larger braid at the back. “There’s lots of things about you that are different.”

“Like what?” Fred pressed, tapping his foot.

“Like that.” She pointed. “You can’t keep still. George doesn’t fidget as much as you do.” Fred frowned. His foot stopped, but his arms crossed and his fingers tapped.

“Damn. Okay, point taken. That can’t be the only thing, though.”

Chrys shrugged. “A girl’s got to have some secrets,” she said. Fred’s voice was a little deeper. He was a little crueler. His emotions were obvious in his body language. George’s nose was a little larger. Sometimes when he smiled, it was a lie. “Now, hurry up and tell me what’s going on so I can get downstairs before Harry starts the dance.”

“Moral support?” Fred wondered.

“That, and Parvati bet Seamus she can make Harry’s dance look halfway decent. I’ve borrowed Colin’s camera for… proof, either way. Ginny’s holding it for me. She went down earlier.”

Fred blinked at her and then laughed. “Alright. I’ll explain while we head down then.” He offered her his arm. She chewed at her lip.

“Fine.”

“George has fancied her for years—Angie, I mean,” Fred said as they walked down the hall.

“Oh.” Chrys frowned. “Then why did _you_ ask her to the ball?”

Fred scratched his face. “It was Lee’s idea to make him jealous. We’ve been flirting with her in front of him for ages, hoping he’d get annoyed enough to make a move, but he’s a tough nut, Georgie.”

Chrys shook her head. “I’d say you’re the nutty one. Just let George do what he likes.”

“I’m pretty sure what he’d like is to be with Angelina,” Fred said. “Only, he says their friendship is in a good place right now, and he doesn’t know if she likes him back, so he doesn’t want to risk that. But what’s life without a few risks, eh?” He grinned. “Anyway, I don’t think Angie can tell us apart all of the time, so I was hoping to pass it off like George had asked her, but then you had to go and ruin it by asking him.”

“If you had told me before hand, I might have helped.”

“Might have?” He repeated.

Chrys sighed. “Look,” she said. “I know you’re doing all this cause you love him, and you want him to be happy, but what happens with him and Angelina is up to them and no one else.” He opened his mouth, but she hurried on, “Anyway, what changed George’s mind? How did he go from wanting to keep his mouth shut to…” She waved her hand. “Whatever shenanigans you’ve got planned for tonight?”

Fred studied her for a moment. “I thought _you_ had something to do with his change of heart? He said you two had a chat that got him thinking, and he agreed to switch with me. What _did_ you say to him?”

“Ah, something like _be yourself_?” This seemed like the opposite of that. “I don’t know…”

Fred frowned. “I could’ve told him that. Why’d he need to hear it from you?”

Chrys stuck her nose up imperiously. “Obviously, he just likes the sound of my voice better than yours.”

Fred snorted. “Yeah, alright.”

“It doesn’t seem fair to Angelina, though,” Chrys said seriously. “If she still thinks she’s going with you.” Fred stopped suddenly.

“You won’t tell her, will you? George should be the one to do it. He’s made me promise not to get involved… any further, I mean.”

“I guess that makes sense.” She let out a rushing sigh.

“There she is.” Chrys hurried up to Ginny, spotting her hair in the crowd gathered in the Entrance Hall.

“Here you go.” Ginny handed over the camera. “Don’t break it, or Colin will kill us both.” Then she shot Fred a weird look. “I thought you were—”

“Looking good there, Neville!” Fred said cheerfully, clapping him on the shoulder. “Did I ever tell you about our next product? Still very experimental, so the side effects can be… unpleasant, to say the least.”

Neville gulped. “Leave off,” Ginny said, frowning at Fred. “I’ve told you, we’re just going as friends, and even if we weren’t, you’d best keep your ‘products’ to yourself, or I’ll make whatever pain you’ve put yourself through testing them seem like a holiday.” She straightened herself up, glowering. “In simpler terms, touch one hair Neville’s head, and you’ll be sorry, got it?” Fred held his hands up in surrender. “See you later,” Ginny said to Chrys, before stomping off. Neville blinked.

“Er, I’ll just be… going, then…” He hurried after her.

Fred smiled. “I’m very proud of that one,” he said, wiping an invisible tear out of his eye.

Chrys laughed and shook her head. She looked around.

“See Harry anywhere?”

“Ah…” Fred craned his neck.

“Champions over here, please!” They heard Professor McGonagall call out.

Chrys frowned. “I can’t get a good shot from here…”

“Come on, then.” Fred took her hand and weaved them in and out of the crowd until they came to a spot with a better view.

“Thanks.” Chrys smiled at him.

Fred smiled back at her and then looked at the champions, tilting his head.

“Is that Hermione with Krum?”

Chrys jerked up from her fiddling with the camera settings.

“… So it is. Damn. Ron’s going to be—”

“A git,” Fred finished.

“Well, yeah,” Chrys acknowledged. “He’s going to be crushed about it and lash out, probably.” Fred nodded.

“Ronniekins doesn’t do well with jealousy.”

“Most people don’t,” Chrys thought, following Harry’s sad gaze to Cho Chang, who was on the arm of Cedric Diggory.

Fred spotted Lee as they stepped into the Great Hall, and moved towards him, Chrys trailing awkwardly behind.

The house tables had been cleared away, as they were last year when Sirius attacked Gryffindor Tower, and they slept here instead. But rather than the fearful whispers of that night, the crowd was full of cheerful chatter, the general mood blustered by the sparkling silver snow that dusted the walls, which were strewn with garlands of holly and mistletoe. There were smaller tables set off to the side, lit by lanterns.

Most of Fred’s friends were sitting at one of the tables, Lee standing up and telling a story with lots of hand motions.

George and Angelina seemed to be doing well, as George leaned over and whispered something in her ear that made her laugh. As Fred approached, George caught his eye. Fred nodded slightly and George grinned, turning back to Angelina.

“There you are!” Katie said. “What took you?” Katie was wearing pink dress robes, with little bows on each of her shoulders. She was sitting next to a girl Chrys didn’t recognize.

“I wonder…” Lee winked at Fred, who laughed and elbowed him. Chrys ignored the heat creeping up her neck.

“Everything alright?” The unknown girl asked. Chrys thought she looked very cool in her men’s cut dress robes.

“Had to get this camera,” Chrys only half lied, holding it up. “Anybody want their picture taken?”

“Sure!” Katie said brightly. “How about a shot of us girls? Angie, come on.” She stood, pulling Angelina up by the hand. “Alicia, get in here—you too, Leanne.” Alicia and the cool girl stood up to join them. “You too, Chrys!”

“But, who’s going to take the picture?” Chrys wondered.

“Lee can,” Alicia suggested.

“Sure.” Lee held out his hands and Chrys reluctantly handed over the camera, getting in next to Angelina. “Smile!”

After Lee took a few shots of the girls (one normal, one with serious faces, and one with silly ones), Chrys quickly took the camera back just in time for Professor McGonagall to announce the arrival of the champions.

She took some photos as they filed in slowly.

“Harry does look a bit nervous, doesn’t he?” Alicia thought. Harry was staring at his feet. Parvati, on the other hand, was holding her head high.

“Diggory looks very nice though,” Katie thought. “As usual.”

Fred and George both made faces. Chrys laughed a little, still watching Harry. They appeared to be moving towards the head table, where the judges were seated. Well, most of the judges. Chrys blinked at the fifth seat, which should be occupied by Mr. Crouch.

“Hang on, is that Percy?”

“What?” Fred’s head whipped around.

“Oh yeah,” George said.

“What’s he doing here?” Fred wondered.

“Working, apparently,” George said. “What else? I tried to get more out of him, but he told me to shove off.”

“You did accuse him of copying your outfit,” Angelina pointed out. Percy was wearing blue dress robes as well, though the shade was slightly different.

Chrys said so. “Ah, I sit corrected,” George said. Chrys snorted. Angelina and Fred rolled their eyes, though their expressions were both fond.

Chrys turned back to the head table, watching Harry take the seat next to Percy.

“Oh, they’re not dancing yet?” She said, disappointed.

“Probably after we eat,” Alicia figured, looking over the menu that had just appeared in front of her. “You alright sitting with us, Chrys? Feel free to ditch George—”

“Hey!” Fred and George said.

“—If you’d rather sit with people in your year,” Alicia continued, ignoring them.

“Um…” Chrys looked around, spotting a disgruntled Ron sitting at a table nearby with a blank-faced Padma, the other Gryffindors in their year, and Ginny. On Padma’s other side, Lavender said something that seemed to make Padma relax a bit. “I think I’m fine here.”

The menus were set up so that you said what you wanted, and it appeared on your plate. Katie and George chatted about what sort of spellwork that must have taken while Lee and Alicia both lamented not being able to take their muggle boyfriends to the ball.

Chrys glanced around nervously when Lee mentioned having a boyfriend, but no one seemed to react.

“Course, I don’t mind going with you,” Lee told Alicia. “I just… I think I’m pretty serious about this guy, you know?”

Alicia shrugged. “Honestly, I can’t relate. I like Francisco well enough, but I’m mostly disappointed he can’t come cause he’s a better dancer than you,” she said. Lee gasped dramatically. She snickered. “What about you, Chrys? Are you any good at dancing?”

Chrys put her knife down, frowning slightly.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really tried.”

Lee and Alicia exchanged an odd look.

“Well, that’s okay,” Alicia figured. “These two are actually halfway decent…” She gestured at Fred and George.

“Aw, thanks!” Fred said, grinning at her. Chrys blinked at him. She hadn’t known he was even listening. She had thought he seemed pretty focused on his food.

Alicia tilted her head. “Well, what they lack in skill they make up for enthusiasm… probably.”

Fred pouted. Lee laughed.

“We’ll have fun, Chrys,” Fred said, winking. Her stomach jumped like she’d missed a step. “Don’t you worry.”

After they had finished eating, Dumbledore stood up.

“If everyone could please stand.” He motioned with his hands and they all stood up as well. He waved his wand and the tables moved back along the walls. On the right side of the room, a platform suddenly appeared—with several instruments appearing on top of it.

Angelina grinned, making little excited movements with her hands. George propped his chin up, watching her with a soft smile on his face.

Fred rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as well.

Chrys glanced back and forth between the Weird Sister who were setting up their instruments, and the Champions, who were all standing up except for Harry, Luckily, Parvati grabbed him by the arm and they came down onto the dance floor.

The Weird Sisters started to play. Chrys saw Seamus and Dean waving at Harry and laughing. She caught Seamus’ eye and flipped him off. He returned the gesture, still grinning widely.

And then they started to dance. Chrys quickly snapped a few photos.

“Well,” Alicia said thoughtfully. “They’re not doing too badly—although I don’t think Harry’s realized he’s supposed to be leading.” Everyone laughed.

“Shall we?” Lee offered his hand to her, doing a little bow. She rolled her eyes, taking his hand and pulling him onto the dance floor.

Other pairs slowly started dancing as well.

“It’s a bit slow,” Angelina thought, frowning. “Not that I don’t like it, but I do hope they play some of their more energetic stuff.” Chrys nodded, not sure she would really be that good at dancing either way.

“Just because the music is slow doesn’t mean you have to dance slowly,” Fred figured, grabbing Chrys by the hand.

“What—” She laughed in surprise as he spun her around. Fred continued to move them in a sort of weird bobbing and jumping and spinning movements until Chrys joined in of her own accord, trying to keep up with him, while putting a few flourishes of her own into it as well.

After about a minute, the music changed, the new song matching their speed of dancing a little better.

“Well,” Fred said, slightly out of breath. “What do you think? How was your first time dancing? Cause I think we’re _excellent_ dancers.”

“Was that dancing?” Chrys wondered. Fred shrugged.

“It’s dancing if we say it is.” He nudged her arm with hers. “So what do you think?”

“I think…I think I like it.” She liked the stupid way his hair fell in front of his face. She liked the glint in his eyes as he grinned at her.

They stood still for a moment, watching the band play. Then Fred glanced over at George and Angelina, who seemed to agree with Fred on what exactly constituted as dancing. Chrys saw Seamus and Lavender dodge out of the way to avoid flailing limbs.

“Anyway, ah, thanks, Chrys, for going along with this. I just hope George doesn’t manage to screw it up somehow.”

Chrys frowned. “Don’t you think you’re selling him short?”

Fred shrugged. “It’s not at that I doubt his potential, I just think sometimes, especially when it comes to Angelina, he’s all plans and no action,” he said. Chrys laughed. Fred blinked. “What?”

“Don’t you think you have a tendency to act without thinking?” She said, thinking of her conversation with George. Fred frowned at her. She waved her hand. “I’m not saying that’s totally a bad thing, just… you’re different people, you know, you’re gonna do things differently sometimes—and that’s okay!” Fred’s eyes widened. He poked her on the nose. “Hey!” She swatted at him. He grinned.

“If you say so.” He looked back at George again, his smile slipping a bit. “I still worry about him though.”

She nodded. “Yeah, I get that.” She looked around, spotting Harry and Ron sitting down already, with a very moody looking Padma. “Uh-oh. Um, do you mind if I go rescue Padma?” Fred followed her gaze and snorted. “Oh Ronniekins.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Go be a hero, little lioness, I’ll make it without you.” He held his hand to his chest. “Somehow.”

She laughed. “Oh shut up.”

“Everything alright?” Chrys asked Padma.

“What?” Harry sat up, startled, looking away from Cho and Cedric. “Yes! I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

Ron snorted. “Er, actually, I was talking to Padma,” Chrys told him. Harry froze.

“Right…” Harry turned to Padma. “You do look sort of disgruntled.”

Padma raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m surprised you noticed. You didn’t so much as bat an eyelash when Parvati went to dance with that Beauxbatons boy.” She glanced at Ron. “I have half a mind to join them.”

Ron shrugged. Padma sighed. Chrys frowned thoughtfully.

“Why don’t you come dance with me,” she said to her. Padma tilted her head. “I can’t say I’ll do any better than Ron, but I’m willing to try, at least.” Padma looked at Ron, who just shrugged again.

“Yes, alright then.” Padma stood up, taking her arm. The two of them moved out onto the floor. Padma was a lot more graceful and precise in her movements than Fred. Chrys was having a hard time keeping up with her, but Padma was patient as well, taking time to break down the steps so that Chrys might try them for herself.

“You’re a good teacher,” Chrys told her.

“Thanks,” Padma said. “I’ve been taking lessons since I was little. I only wish I was half as coordinated on a broom…” Suddenly Padma stumbled, grabbing onto Chrys’ arm to keep herself upright.

“What’s wrong?” Chrys followed her gaze, seeing one of Padma’s dorm mates dancing with a Ravenclaw boy in their year.

“N-nothing,” Padma said, gripping her arm tighter.

“That’s Sue Li,” Chrys suddenly recalled the girl’s name. “One of the chasers on your team, right?” Padma nodded. She started to dance again, although she kept glancing over at Sue. “Harry’s said she’s a good player, I think.”

“She’s not just good, she’s excellent,” Padma corrected her, gaze softening.

“Are you two close?” Chrys wondered, not really recalling seeing them hang out much.

“Ah, no, not really,” Padma said. “She, Sally, and Lisa are best friends. Mandy and I keep ourselves to ourselves mostly.” She sighed. “I wanted to ask Sue to the ball, but I chickened out.” Chrys stumbled. This time it was Padma holding her upright. “Sometimes I wish I had Parvati’s bravery.”

“…Hey, Padma?”

“Hmmm?”

“I don’t… I mean, I’m not judging or anything, but I wanted to know, I mean, I’ve been thinking…”

Padma’s brow furrowed. “You seem out of sorts. Want to get some punch?”

“Er, yeah, okay.” They pulled off to the side, grabbing drinks and then finding a spot to lean against the wall. Chrys took a deep breath. “I wanted to ask, it seems like the wizarding world has a much more relaxed attitude about… I mean, in the muggle world, there’s a bit of a… stigma, or whatever, about girls dating girls, and boys dating boys, but people here seem a lot more, um, relaxed about that.”

Padma tilted her head. “I suppose so. I haven’t really interacted with muggle society too much, so I couldn’t make a proper comparison. And I suppose some older, high-society wizarding families have some prejudice about certain couples, likely due to succession issues, as there has been less prejudice after the recent progress in magically assisted pregnancies, but most modern families don’t mind so much one way or another.” Her expression turned concerned as she studied Chrys. “Are you alright?”

Chrys blinked. “It’s, um… a lot to take in, I think.”

“I could send you an article?” Padma offered. “I subscribe to a magazine.”

“Oh, well, yes, that might be helpful,” Chrys thought. Padma smiled.

“I’m glad.”

After several more goblets of punch and dancing with friends, Chrys was feeling light-headed and the extreme urge to pee. She joined a pack of girls making their way towards the restroom. On the way back to the Great Hall, Chrys was separated from Padma. She spotted her again, having a rousing discussion on broomstick craftsmanship with Sue Li. Chrys smiled and hung back, deciding to give the two some privacy.

Then she saw Fred, pacing back and forth, his face flustered.

“You okay?” She called out to him. He didn’t appear to hear her. She got closer, and rested her hand on his arm. “Freddie, you okay?” He jolted.

“Ah, Chrys, you’re here… I’m, yeah, I’m fine. Just lost sight of George.”

“You don’t need to follow him everywhere,” Chrys thought.

“Well, no, I guess not, but then I had a run-in with Bagman, and Georgie’s made me promise not to speak to him without him, but I thought it was a good opportunity, so I did, and then Percy scared him off…” He sighed. “Anyway, what about you, you’re having a good time?” He smiled weakly at her.

“It’s not bad,” she said. “But… do you want to take a walk outside, get some fresh air?”

“Yeah, okay.”

The Great Hall had been opened up at the back, onto a special rose garden, which appeared to have been created just for the night’s festivities. The cool breeze smelled sweet. Chrys leaned forward to smell a flower, and saw that some of them were glowing inside, like small lanterns.

“There’re real fairies in these bushes,” Chrys noted. She reached her hand out, feeling a sudden desire to touch the small ball of light and see if it was as warm as it looked.

“Careful.” Fred grabbed her hand in his. “They’re cheeky buggers, fairies. One bit me one time, and my thumb glowed green for a week.”

Chrys laughed. “What were you doing to the poor fairy?”

“…I may or may not have heard a rumor about tickling them in order to get fairy dust,” he said, grinning. They kept walking, and somehow found themselves on the path along the edge of the lake.

"How did we end up here?" She looked around. "I wonder if the creation of the rose garden changed the location of this path..."

"Spacial-shifting magic can be tricky," Fred said, looking around as well. Then his face softened. “Ah, there you are, Georgie.”

Chrys followed his gaze and found two figures gliding over the frozen lake, lit up by floating lights. “They’re surrounded by fairies,” Chrys realized.

“Yeah. George’s always been better with magical creatures than I have,” Fred thought. “And I remember Angie talking about how much she was going to miss ice skating with her family this year… he’s doing good, isn’t he?”

Chrys nodded in agreement. As they watched, George fell, sprawled out over the ice. Fred gasped and moved as if to rush after him, but Chrys grabbed his arm.

“Just… give him a minute.”

Angelina reached down and slowly helped him up. They said something to each other, and then suddenly they were kissing.

"Yes!" Fred cried out, punching his fist into the air.

"Quiet!" Chrys elbowed him. "They'll hear you."

“Shit…” Fred was now looking in the opposite direction, back down the path closer to the castle. “Snape and Karkaroff are coming this way—what are they doing over here? Nobody’s supposed to be on the lake, he’s going to ruin George and Angelina’s moment!”

“Not if I can help it!” Chrys thought, glancing around for something that could help. She saw the fairies, and reached into her robes, pulling out her emergency supply of licorice. “Hello,” she said to the fairies. “Your friend out on the lake might be getting into some trouble. I was wondering if you could cause a distraction for us? Either way, here’s a small token.” She held a strand of licorice out to them. There was a pause, during which Fred kept watching the path nervously, and then the strand of licorice was surrounded by balls of light, and disappeared into the bush. A large group of fairies rose up into the air, flying at Snape and Karkaroff, surrounding them.

Fred laughed as they watched Snape and Karkaroff flail and curse, and eventually choose to turn back the way they came.

“That was brilliant!” Fred said, picking her up and spinning her around. She laughed. “You clever girl, I could kiss you!”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” she said, hanging over him, smiling shyly. He froze. His grip tightened on her waist, and then slowly he lowered her down.

“It’s just an expression, Chrys.”

“I… I know.” Her stomach turned. “I know, but I still wouldn’t mind…”

In the dim light of the fairies passing by to return to the bush behind them, she could see his ears flush pink. “Chrys, you’re only fourteen. There’ll be plenty of time for you to kiss people when you’re older… people who you fancy—”

“But what if it’s you I like?” She interrupted. He rubbed his neck, smiling slightly.

“…Sometimes I wish I was like George. I would like to think this out properly, cause you deserve a proper answer—but I’m not him. Sometimes my mind moves so fast, even I don’t know what I’m thinking.” He reached out and kissed her hand. His lips lingered on her skin for a moment, making her head feel fuzzy. Then he pulled away, grinning like everything was normal. “Some of the younger students should have cleared out by now, so I think it’d be a good time to spike the punch. Do you want to help me distract Percy?”

By the time Chrys left the Great Hall, it had mostly started to clear out. She heard whispers of an after-party in the Hufflepuff common room, but was so tired at this point that she couldn’t even entertain the idea.

There were still some stragglers in the Gryffindor common room, including some older students who were passing around a flask that could rival Moody’s in suspiciousness.

“Oi! Chrys!” Dean waved her over. He was sitting in a circle of people on the floor playing exploding snap. She moved over to them. He looked very handsome in his dress robes. She was surprised he had gone to the ball alone. “Up for a round?”

“Nah, I think I’m too tired,” she told him. “Shouldn’t he be getting to bed too?” She pointed at Seamus, who appeared to be napping curled under Dean’s arm. Dean shrugged his opposite shoulder.

“Eh, he’ll wake up if he gets uncomfortable. I don’t mind.”

“He’s much cuter with you than he was with me,” Lavender grumbled. Dean shot her a grin. “Ooh, Chrys, you missed a shouting match between Ron and Hermione!”

Chrys rolled her eyes. “What else is new?”

“This one was _really_ bad,” Lavender said, her tone not quite matching her words. “He was jealous she went with Krum, I think, and she was upset he hadn’t asked her.”

“I’m sure I’ll hear all about it in the morning, Lav,” Chrys said, yawning. She moved upstairs. Hermione was in bed already, just a lump under the covers. She was shaking. Chrys sighed, changing into her pajamas and then moving over to Hermione’s bed. “Room for one more?”

“Chrys?” Hermione poked her head out from the covers. She eyes were puffy. “I’m angry.”

“I know. I’m tired, but I’ll snuggle with you and try not to fall asleep and snore if you want to talk about it.”

“I don’t know…” Hermione said uncertainly, but she peeled back the covers and scooted over. Chrys got into the bed with her, and they maneuvered themselves into a more comfortable position. Hermione sighed. “He’s stupid.”

“Yeah. How’s Krum?”

“Very nice. He thinks a lot before he speaks. He… he’s very _not_ Ron. Which, I rather thought was the point. But…” She groaned. “I don’t know.” She turned, looking at Chrys curiously. “What about you and George? Did you have a good time?”

“It was Fred, actually,” Chrys told her. Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Long story, tell you later. Um, but… it was… kind of nice? I’m confused, mostly. I told him I liked him, he said I was too young, and then kissed my hand, and then ditched me with Percy? I don’t know.”

“…Boys,” Hermione muttered.

“Hmm.” Chrys nodded.


	24. Of Dates and Mates

It was lucky they were on a holiday, because no one was in a hurry to wake up and face a normal Monday morning on the day after the ball.

Chrys had woken up before Hermione, quietly slipping out of her bed to go take a shower. When she undid her plait, she laughed at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her hair was nearly as fluffy as Hermione’s!

After she got dressed, she went downstairs and took her usual spot on the window seat, staring out at the grounds. She didn’t feel much like sketching this morning.

“Hey, you!”

Chrys turned to see George grinning at her. She smiled back at him.

“It seemed like things went well with Angelina.”

“They did!” He plopped down on the floor in front of her, his legs crossed under him. He glanced around, and then seeing that no one was too nearby, leaned closer to her. “Don’t tell Fred, but I told her straight from the start that we were planning on switching—it didn’t seem fair to her otherwise.”

Chrys titled her head. “So, if everyone was in on it… why keep up the charade?”

George shrugged. “It seemed to ease Fred’s nerves a little, I think. And also, it gave you two the chance to talk, didn’t it?”

Chrys sighed. “I guess…”

George propped his chin up and studied her. “He told me about your little confession.”

“Ah, that…” Chrys fiddled with her hair, a little flatter now that it was wet.

“Good for you!” George slapped her knee. Her eyes widened.

“You knew I liked him?”

“Were you trying to hide it?” He wondered. She shook her head.

“Not really, I just… I hadn’t really realized it myself, until recently.”

“That’s okay,” George thought. “You’re still young. You’ve got plenty of time to figure these things out.” Chrys grimaced.

“That’s essentially what Fred said, except… I can’t help but feel like he was sending me mixed messages?” She pushed her fingers through her hair again. “Or maybe I was just seeing what I wanted to see, I don’t know.”

“I don’t think it’s just you,” George said. “I mean, obviously he likes you, it just might not be so clear to him _how_ he likes you.”

Chrys huffed. “So, what, I just have to wait until he figures out how he feels?”

George laughed. “Oh, yeah, cause you’re both the most patient people I’ve ever met!” He stood up suddenly. “Morning, Harry! How’s it going?”

Harry squinted at him. “Okay… you seem… chipper.”

“I had a good time last night!” George told him. He winked at Chrys. “See you around!”

Harry’s brow furrowed. Chrys pulled her legs in and he sat next to her.

“You and George…”

“Hmmm?” Chrys glanced out the window again, wondering if today would be a good day to try and sketch the Abraxans again.

“Is he the one you mentioned you wanted to ask to the ball? He’s older, and fairly popular…”

Chrys shook her head. “No, no, no. I like George, but not like that.”

“I see.” Harry’s brow was still furrowed. “Then… who?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“I don’t know,” he said hesitantly. “Do you want me to?”

“I don’t know,” she echoed.

“I wouldn’t mind if you told me,” he said. “But I also kind of wouldn’t mind if you didn’t? I mean, I want to respect your privacy, but if you wanted to talk about it... whatever makes you more comfortable, I guess.”

“It’s weird,” Chrys thought. “I used to tell you everything without even thinking about it... we’re not growing apart, are we?” Her stomach sank. Harry shook his head, displaying a rare moment of physical affection by reaching out and squeezing her hand.

“Never,” he said confidently. “We’d never grow apart, maybe we’re just... growing up?”

She snorted.

“The pinnacles of maturity, we are.”

They waited for Ron and Hermione to head down to breakfast all together. Harry seemed to be waiting for an explosion when Ron and Hermione saw each other, but Ron merely nodded.

“Hermione.”

She nodded back at him. “Ronald.”

“...Right,” Harry said awkwardly. “Um, I see your hair’s back to normal, ‘Mione.”

“Yes. It was fun to have a different look, but it’s way too much to bother to do every day.”

“Have you told them about Hagrid?” Ron asked Harry.

“What about Hagrid?” Chrys wondered.

“Well, err… let’s go for a walk,” Harry suggested. They took toast outside again, doing their usual path around the lake. Chrys missed the roses and fairies, wondering how they had managed to clear the garden out so quickly. “So, last night, we overheard a conversation between Madame Maxine and Hagrid… Hagrid told her he was half-giant, on his mother’s side, and asked her about who in her family was a giant, but she got really offended.”

Hermione nodded. “Well, I thought he must be. I knew he couldn’t be pure giant because they’re about twenty feet tall. But honestly, all this hysteria about giants… They can’t _all_ be horrible… it’s the same sort of prejudice people have towards werewolves. It’s just bigotry, isn’t it?”

Ron made a face at her behind her back.

“I don’t know…” Chrys said, nibbling at a bit of toast. “It’s a similar, maybe, but a little different… cause werewolves look human most of the time, but Hagrid… well, he’s physically… visibly different, right? So, of course werewolves have their set of struggles, but Hagrid’s must be a little different, I think.” Hermione nodded.

“I see your point.”

For the rest of the week, Harry was more focused on the egg than Hagrid’s family background. “I keep listening to it, but I can’t figure out what it’s supposed to be… except maybe musical chainsaws,” he told Chrys as they looked over their homework late the night before the start of term.

Chrys snorted. “Yeah, okay, so you’ve got to fight a death metal band.”

“…I’d rather not.”

“Then take Diggory’s tip and bring the egg to the prefect bathroom,” Chrys said. Harry made a face. She sighed. “Harry, Diggory seems like a nice enough, intelligent enough person. It’s silly of you not to want to take his advice just because he and Cho are seeing each other.”

“Spoken to Fred lately?” Harry replied. Chrys squinted at him.

“That’s the last time I tell you anything about that sort of thing.” She finished the last sentence of her essay and pushed it away from her. “Anyway, if you don’t want to do it, I’ll do it. I’ve been curious to see what the prefect bathroom looks like anyway.”

“I’m supposed to figure it out on my own,” he reminded her.

“Since when do you give a shit about the rules?” Chrys wondered. Harry smiled slightly.

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

The first day of term wasn’t bad. Except for Herbology. The grounds were still covered in snow, which was covered in a layer of thick crunchy ice. Several students went slipping down the hill on their way down to the greenhouses.

The glass walls of the greenhouse were so frosted no one could see in or out of them.

“The plants that need more direct sunlight are suffering a bit,” Neville told Chrys worriedly as they sat down at their table. “Professor Sprout is working with Professor Flitwick to make sunlight-mimicking lamps… I wish I could help, but, well, you know how my charms are…”

“Your charms aren’t so bad,” Chrys told him encouragingly. “You just need a little more confidence—maybe it will help, if it’s a Herbology related charm.”

“Yeah, I find Charms a lot easier when they’re art related,” Dean agreed. “It helps if it’s more interesting to you.”

With the cold, people were even more worried about Care of Magical Creatures the next day.

“At least the skrewts blasting off might keep us warm,” Ron said bitterly.

“Skrewt-burns probably aren’t too far from frostbite,” Chrys thought, glancing at Parvati questioningly.

“Although there doesn’t appear to be any literature on the subject, from my personal observations, they have some similar characteristics,” Parvati agreed.

“Okay, so what if they catch Hagrid’s hut on fire?” Ron suggested. “A nice big bonfire would keep us warm.” Hermione frowned at him.

“Alright,” Harry said. “If his house burns down, we’ll give him your bed, Ron.”

Everyone laughed (including Ron). Hermione’s expression lightened a bit, but immediately turned concerned when they spotted a woman with short grey hair standing in front of Hagrid’s door.

“Hurry up now,” the woman said. “The bell rang five minutes ago.”

“Who’re you?” Ron asked. “Where’s Hagrid?”

“My name is Professor Grubbly-Plank,” the woman said. “I am your temporary Care of Magical Creatures teacher.” The Gryffindors muttered to each other.

“Where’s Hagrid?” Harry and Chrys called out.

“He is indisposed,” Professor Grubbly-Plank said shortly. Laughter came floating down the hill towards them as the Slytherins approached.

“They don’t look surprised to see her,” Harry whispered to Chrys. “They know something.”

“This way please.” Grubbly-Plank began walking around the Abraxans’ paddock. Harry reluctantly followed, glancing back at Hagrid’s cabin

“The curtains are closed… do you think he’s in there, ill, and alone?”

“Should we bring him something?” Chrys wondered.

“We can go to the kitchens, get him some soup or something,” Ron thought.

Chrys smiled at him.

Harry sped up to walk alongside Grubbly-Plank.

“What’s wrong with Hagrid?” He asked her.

“Never you mind,” she said.

“I do mind, though,” Harry said, scowling. “What’s up with him?”

“Please,” Chrys added as Grubbly-Plank ignored him. “He’s our friend, we just want to know that he’s okay.” Grubbly-Plank glanced at her, her gaze softening slightly.

“He’s had a bit of a rough morning, not at liberty to say more,” she said. “If you’re his friend, maybe you will be able to speak to him about it later, Miss Potter.”

She stopped along the edge of the forest. There was a glowing figure amongst the trees.

“Unicorn…” Chrys muttered as several people gasped.

“It’s beautiful!” Lavender exclaimed. “How did she get it? They’re supposed to be really hard to catch.”

“Not if you have an innocent and pure heart,” Chrys said, glancing thoughtfully at Grubbly-Plank. She couldn’t be too bad if she was able to get a unicorn to wait for them here. Of course, there were more cruel methods of keeping a unicorn hostage against its will… she shuddered as she thought of their encounter with Voldemort in the forest during their first year… but this unicorn seemed too relaxed to have been treated badly.

“Precisely,” Professor Grubbly-Plank said, nodding. “I don’t suppose you know how to call a unicorn, Miss Potter?”

“Hmmm, sugar-water and singing, I think,” Chrys tried to recall from her reading. “But most sweets will work fine if you’re a good person, or have a nice enough voice.”

“So you and Harry shouldn’t sing a word or you’ll scare it away,” Ron reasoned. Chrys and Harry both elbowed him at the same time.

“Very good,” Grubbly-Plank said. “Three points to Gryffindor, Miss Potter.” She held her arm out, stopping Harry from approaching the unicorn. “Boys, keep back. They prefer the touch of a woman. Girls to the front, approach with care… easy does it…” The girls moved forward. Chrys reached out, and the unicorn nuzzled against her palm. Its cool nose spread a feeling of peace into her. She smiled, turning back to tell Harry how lovely unicorns were, and then frowned. He appeared to be arguing with Malfoy over a newspaper article.

The unicorn whinnied, toeing at the ground as it nudged her neck.

“Sorry, sorry,” Chrys said, brushing her fingers through its silky mane. “I’ll pay more attention to you.” The feeling of peace settled over her again, for just a moment before it was interrupted by Grubbly-Plank’s sharp voice.

“Are you paying attention over there?” She snapped at the boys.

“I hope she stays, that woman!” Parvati said as they walked back up to the castle. “That’s more what I thought Care of Magical Creatures would be like… proper creatures like unicorns, not monsters.”

“Ignoring the skrewts, most of what we’ve been covering is required by the curriculum, Pavarti,” Chrys told her. “We would’ve gotten around to unicorns… eventually.” Parvati smiled apologetically at her.

“And what about Hagrid?” Harry snapped at her.

Parvati’s smile faded. “What about him? He can still be gamekeeper, can’t he?” She stomped away from them.

“…Is it just my imagination, or has she been a bit cold to me lately?” Harry wondered.

“Come off it,” Chrys said. “You can’t be that ignorant.”

He frowned. “I guess… maybe I should have paid her more attention at the ball… but it seemed like she had a good time all the same. Didn’t you hear she’s going to Hogsmeade with that Beauxbatons boy she danced with?”

“It turning out well doesn’t excuse how you treated her,” Chrys thought.

“That was a really good lesson!” Hermione said cheerfully as she caught up to them. “I didn’t know half the things Professor Grubbly-Plank told us—”

“Look at this!” Harry shoved a newspaper article in her face.

“Oh, is this what you and Malfoy were fighting over?” Chrys wondered, leaning on Hermione’s shoulder to get a look. She frowned as she read the Daily Prophet article, written by Rita Skeeter, exposing Hagrid’s family history. Chrys growled. “That b—”

“How did that horrible Skeeter woman find out?” Hermione wondered. “You don’t think Hagrid _told_ her?”

“That’s what I wondered,” Ron said. “But Harry reckons he wouldn’t have.”

“Well, I mean, he never even told us about it,” he reasoned as they moved through the entrance hall. He went to climb the stairs, but Chrys grabbed his arm.

“Let’s go to the kitchens. Even if he isn’t ill, Hagrid might appreciate something… maybe some cake instead of soup.”

They turned the corner.

“I reckon she got angry he wouldn’t give her loads of horrible stuff about me, so she went ferreting around to get him back,” Harry continued.

“Maybe she heard him telling Madame Maxine at the ball, like you did,” Hermione thought.

Ron shook his head. “We’d have seen her! Anyway, she’s not supposed to come into the school anymore, Hagrid said Dumbledore banned her.”

“Maybe she’s got an Invisibility Cloak,” Harry thought, tickling the pear. They stepped into the kitchens. “Sort of thing she’d do, isn’t it, hide in bushes listening to people.”

“Like you and Ron, you mean,” Hermione said pointedly. Chrys snorted.

“We weren’t trying to hear him!” Ron said defensively. He turned to a house-elf. “Can we get some sweets to go? Our friend is in a bit of a mood.” The house elf nodded and rushed off.

“A bit of a mood?” Chrys repeated, raising an eyebrow at him.

“That stupid prat, talking about his giantess mother where anyone could have heard him!” Ron grumbled.

They took the paper bag of sweets the house-elves gave them and went outside to brave the cold again.

Only, Hagrid wouldn’t let them in. He wouldn’t even speak to them through the door, the only response to their knocks being Fang’s whining and barking.

“What’s he avoiding _us_ for?” Hermione said, her voice full of hurt as they walked back up to the castle. Ron offered her a pastry, but she shook her head. He munched on it instead. “Surely he doesn’t think we care about him being half-giant?” She rubbed her arms, shivering as they stepped back into the warm castle. “I mean, I know it’s not the same thing, but I can imagine… I’ve gotten enough talk here about being muggleborn, and in the muggle world people always ask me where I’m from, and not believing my father is my father when we’re out walking just the two of us.” Hermione’s father was a lot lighter skinned than she was, Chrys recalled. Chrys wrapped her arm around Hermione’s shoulders, squeezing.

“Harry and I get a bit of that as well,” she told her. “Although, I don’t mind so much, people not believing we’re related to the Dursleys. I can’t imagine what it must be like, people saying that kind of thing about your blood-related father, and more importantly someone you love.”

“I’ve always wondered how people might’ve treated us differently, if we’d turned out looking more like our mother than our father,” Harry admitted.

“Probably they’d just think you were two more Weasleys,” Ron figured. “Dad has so many distant cousins, any ginger shows up and says they’re related to us, we’d probably believe them.” Chrys laughed.

Unfortunately, Chrys wasn’t laughing much over the rest of the week, as Hagrid refused to leave his cabin. Harry was staring sadly up at the staff table during every meal, and Malfoy made remarks every time he saw them.

“Missing your half-breed pal?” He hissed as he passed them in the hall. Chrys scrunched her hand into a fist. Ron and Hermione grabbed her on either side.

“Come on,” Chrys growled. “Just let me hit him once! You hit him, Hermione, why can’t I?”

Ron snickered as Hermione smiled in embarrassment.

“Chrys!” Parvati said, running up to them. “Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?”

“Ah, yeah, probably?” Chrys said, not seeing why she wouldn’t be.

Parvati smiled. “Then, would you want to come on a group date with me, Jean-Pierre and his friends?”

Chrys blinked at her. “Um…”

“No pressure! Just, we need one more person to round out the numbers, so I thought I’d ask if you would be interested.”

“Um, yeah, okay,” Chrys said, shrugging.

“Thanks, Chrys!” Parvati smiled and ran off again.

“Really?” Hermione said, giving Chrys a weird look.

“What?”

“You’re going to go on a group date with Parvati, Lavender, and a bunch of unknown French boys?”

“We’ll I’ve never been on a date… much less a group date,” Chrys told her. “It could be fun to try something new.”

Hermione sighed. “I suppose so… I guess Ron and I will just hang out on our own.”

“Huh?” Ron said. “What about Harry, aren’t you coming?”

“Sure,” Harry said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Hermione frowned. “I thought you might like to take advantage of the common room being quiet, really get to work on that egg,” she said.

“Oh, I… I reckon I’ve got a pretty good idea what it’s about now,” Harry said.

“Have you really?” Hermione stared at him. Harry nodded. “Well done!”

“You liar,” Chrys whispered at him as they continued into the Great Hall. Harry grimaced.

“I still have five weeks left to figure it out. Hagrid is more important. Maybe we can run into him there and talk to him.”

Chrys ran her hand through her hair. “Maybe…”

“Is _that_ what you’re wearing?” Lavender said, the morning of the Hogsmeade trip.

Chrys glanced down at the Weasley sweater (the most recent dragon one) and pair of Hermione’s old jeans. “Why not?”

“Don’t you want to look cute for the date?” Lavender whined.

“I think I look cute,” Chrys said. She looked at Parvati and Hermione. “Do I look cute?”

Hermione shrugged sleepily (she was still under the covers). “Not my area of expertise.”

“Not true,” Chrys protested. “You’re adorable!”

Hermione made a noise of disbelief, though she was smiling slightly.

“Anyway, even if you are cute, a date is an opportunity to look a little extra cute, to dress up,” Parvati explained.

“Won’t you let us dress you up?” Lavender said, pouting.

“Let us try,” Parvati said. “You can change if you don’t like it.”

Chrys sighed. “Fine. Lay it on me.”

Soon Chrys was dressed in a pale pink shirt of Lavender’s, a denim skirt of unknown origins, and a long pair of black socks that Parvati admitted ‘borrowing’ from Padma.

“What do you think?” Lavender said, presenting Chrys with a wave of her hands.

“…Won’t she be cold?” Hermione wondered, finally having gotten out of bed and throwing on two sweaters.

It’s true that the shirt showed off rather more of Chrys’ stomach than she was used to.

“That’s what warming charms are for, silly,” Lavender tutted. Hermione frowned at her.

“And she’ll be wearing another layer, of course,” Parvati added. “Do you want denim, flannel, or Adidas, Chrys?”

“How come you two have so much muggle clothing anyway?” Hermione wondered as Chrys tried on the denim, shook her head, and took the flannel instead.

“Fashion may not be universal, but it certainly gets around,” Lavender thought. “The trends that we’re aware of probably will be a few years out of date… but that’s how these things work.” She shrugged.

Parvati cast the warming charms on all of them, and then the three girls headed out to meet the boys.

“This is Pierre, Marc, and Roland,” Parvati said, pointing out a blonde, a brunette, and a dark-haired boy in turn. “Boys, these are my friends, Lavender, and Chrysanthemum.” All three boys glanced at the scar of her forehead.

“You can call me Chrys,” she said, smiling toothily at them.

“Pierre is the one I danced with at the ball,” Parvati continued, giggling as he took her arm. The two of them walked ahead, talking to each other in low tones.

The rest of them walked together in a group. Lavender immediately started chatting away in French. Chrys had a moment of panic as she realized that she couldn’t speak French, but Marc seemed to notice her worry and addressed her in English.

“We learn a second language in school. Roland chose Italian, and I chose English,” Marc explained. He looked at Lavender. “Where did you learn?”

“My papa,” Lavender told him. “He grew up in France, and currently works in Paris.”

“So you don’t have language classes in school?” He wondered.

“I think there are a few foreign language clubs, but no official classes,” she said thoughtfully.

“We had second language requirements in muggle school,” Chrys recalled vaguely. “But I never got that far.”

Roland said something in French, looking at Chrys.

“He’s asking you what it was like to be raised by muggles,” Lavender translated.

Chrys shrugged.

“My grand-mère was muggle born, but she died before I was born,” Marc said conversationally.

As they got into Hogsmeade, they started walking around, looking at the shops.

Because of the language barrier, Chrys found herself shunted to the side with Marc as Lavender and Roland spoke, and Parvati and Pierre stayed attached at the hip.

Marc was handsome, and polite, but Chrys found it hard to focus on him. The tone of his voice was too smooth, almost lulling her to sleep.

She had thought he was talking about his signed quaffle collection, but when she tuned back in he was talking about what sounded like the French equivalent of O.W.L.s

She couldn’t hold back a yawn.

“…Am I boring you?” Marc’s tone was joking.

Chrys wondered how rude it would be to say ‘yes.’

“Why don’t we get you a coffee, Chrys?” Lavender suggested. Chrys blinked at her, wondering when Lavender had started listening. Lavender turned to Marc. “She doesn’t sleep well, so I’m sure it’s no reflection on you.” Marc nodded, smiling.

“Okay,” Chrys said, turning towards the Three Broomsticks. She frowned when she saw how crowded it was.

“Oh, we’ll never be able to hear ourselves in there,” Parvati thought.

“Why don’t we go to Madame Puddifoot’s?” Lavender suggested. “They have better coffee anyway.”

“Madame what?” Chrys wondered.

“It’s a tea shop,” Parvati told her. “It’s very cute.”

Chrys wasn’t very fond of Madame Puddifoot’s lacy décor, as it reminded her of something Aunt Petunia would like.

Fortunately, the coffee was quite good. Chrys sipped at it awkwardly as Parvati and Jean-Pierre leaned up against each other, while Lavender and Roland continued chatting in French. Chrys stiffened as Marc leaned in closer.

“I am sorry I don’t appear to be holding your attention,” Marc said, his soft tone tinged with disappointment. “You are very pretty, so I would have liked it if we got along better.”

Chrys felt her face warm up. “Thanks. It’s not that… I mean, I think you’re good looking as well,” she admitted.

“You do?” Marc’s face brightened considerably. “Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind spending the rest of the day with me?” Chrys made a noncommittal noise. “Or…” He glanced out the window. “I could walk you back to the castle, if you are done here.”

Chrys titled her head. “Okay.” She stood up.

“Going somewhere?” Lavender asked slyly, looking back and forth between Chrys and Marc.

“The young lady has had enough, so I offered to walk her back,” Marc explained.

Parvati’s brow furrowed. “Are you okay, Chrys? Do you want us to go back with you?”

“I think it’s fine,” Chrys said. “You enjoy the rest of your date.”

They waved goodbye and then headed out the door.

As they walked back, Marc asked if she would show him the Quidditch pitch.

“Our school is in the city, so we do not have the room for an entire pitch,” he told her. “Even with extension charms.”

Chrys felt a little wary about trudging across the snowy field, but he looked so eager that she agreed to show him the way. They ended up in the stands, where warming charms along the walkways had cleared a path. They moved down to one of the lower rows. The walkways were clear, but the benches were still covered in layers of snow.

“It’s mostly covered up,” she said, motioning around down at the field. “So I’m not sure it’s that interesting, at the moment.”

“You can still see the goal posts.” He pointed. She tilted her head up.

“Yeah, I guess so…” She trailed off as she felt his fingers under her chin. “What are you doing?”

“Thinking of kissing you,” he said. Chrys frowned, taking a step back from him.

“We only just met.”

“Yes, but if we both find each other attractive, I don’t see why we shouldn’t act on it.” He stepped closer to her. Chrys felt her heartbeat speed up.

“Listen, just because I think you’re good looking, doesn’t mean I want to kiss you,” she told him. He laughed.

“Maybe you don’t feel that way now, but if we tried it, you might find you like it.” He took another step towards her, his feet bumping against hers. She took another step back, but found herself falling back onto a bench, her breath pushed out of her as she hit the soft layer of snow. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “The snow is soft…” She tensed as he sat down at her side.

“Is it?” He loomed over her. She slipped her hands into her pockets, gripping her wand. She suddenly recalled a spell George had taught her several years ago, and flicked her wand inside her pocket. The spell pelted Marc with a great number of snowballs in quick succession. Chrys giggled as Marc sat there, looking very confused. “What did you do that for?” He asked, sounding hurt.

She titled her head. “I thought it was funny. And you were bothering me.”

“Oh.” His brow furrowed. “I didn’t realize. I thought we were having a moment.”

“We were not,” Chrys informed him.

“My apologies.” He dipped his head. “Do you still want me to walk you back…?”

Chrys considered. “Alright,” she said. “But no more trying to kiss me.”

“I won’t,” he assured her, holding his hands up in surrender. They walked back up the hill in silence. Chrys felt a little bad for him, but mostly she still felt bored. The proper response to being hit by a snowball was to launch a counterattack, wasn’t it? When they reached the Beauxbatons carriage and Abraxan paddock, Chrys stopped to smile at the large equines. “You like them?”

She nodded. “They’re beautiful.”

Marc was making a face. “I suppose they are… at least, Madame Maxine thinks so, and I would never disagree with her—” Marc was suddenly attacked by another stream of snowballs from a familiar spell. He let out a stream of what Chrys was pretty sure were curses in French. “I have had _enough!_ ”

“It wasn’t me this time,” Chrys said honestly.

Marc shot her a disbelieving look. “I will return to the carriage and dry off, you might continue the rest of the way on your own.”

Chrys waved to him, unbothered.

“Who was that prat?” Fred wondered, walking up behind her. “He reminded me of Percy.”

“Some boy from Beauxbatons. I actually like Percy better, if you could believe it.”

Fred laughed. And then he stopped, studying her closely.

“You okay? You seem kind of down.”

She pulled the ponytail holder out of her hair, the plait suddenly feeling too tight against her scalp. She ran her fingers through it, disturbing it, and sighed.

“I guess I shouldn’t have gone off alone with him, seemed to give him the wrong impression. He thought I wanted to kiss him.”

Fred’s jaw tightened. “If he’s the type of person you shouldn’t be alone with, that’s his fault, not yours. Want me to hit him?”

“You did,” Chrys reminded him. “We both did, actually, with many, many snowballs.”

Fred’s face relaxed a bit, his lips twitching with a hint of a smile.

“You remembered that spell, huh?”

“Yep.”

His expression fell again. Chrys was always amazed at how quickly his face could change. “But that spell only lasts for a couple of minutes. And I’d rather hit him with my bare fists.”

“But it’s cold,” she said. “You’re wearing gloves.”

He snorted and stared at her again. “You’re really alright?”

“Really,” she confirmed. “Just bored. Dates are supposed to be fun, aren’t they?”

His brow furrowed. “You were on a date with him?”

She nodded. “Does that make a difference?”

“Ah, no, I didn’t mean…” He rubbed his neck, his ears tingeing pink. “I just thought… you said you fancied me…”

“Well… I do,” she said. He let out a breath, his eyes meeting hers. “But, it seemed like you weren’t interested, and I’ve never been on a date before, so I thought I’d give it a try.” She turned away. “I’m going back to the castle.”

“I’ll walk with you,” he said. They walked in silence for a moment, and then—“What made you think I wasn’t interested?”

She stopped, turning to look at him again. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Oh. Well, I was thinking about it. I told you I wanted to think seriously before I answered.”

She shook her head. “That’s not really like you, Fred. Just act on your feelings, like you always do.”

“But what if… what if I don’t know what my feelings are?” He said nervously.

“We could try talking it out,” Chrys offered. His face scrunched him. She snorted. “We don’t have to.”

“No, I just…” He sighed and started walking again. “I like you,” he said, staring up at the sky. “I get angry when people hurt you, and happy when I make you laugh. But I feel that way about friends and family. I like holding your hand, and hugging you, but I don’t know if I want to kiss you or take you out on a date. But the idea of you being on a date with some other guy makes me…” He groaned, rubbing his hand over his face. “But what if I’m just feeling like an over-protective older brother? I don’t like the idea of Ginny dating either…”

They walked in silence for another moment. Chrys slipped her hand into his. He looked at her. “That sounds like a lot. I understand if you’re confused. I don’t mind waiting until you figure it out, but… just don’t avoid me anymore while you’re thinking about it, okay? I want to try going on dates with you, and k-kissing you, but… even more so I just want to be around you, and be your friend. Okay?”

He squeezed her hand and nodded. “Okay.”

Fred let go of her hand when they stepped inside the castle, and a vaguely familiar Ravenclaw in his year called out to him.

“I’ll see you later,” he told her. “Promise I won’t avoid you again—or if I do it by accident, feel free to call me out.”

When Chrys got back to the common room, most people were still out and about.

She went up to the dorm, changed into a cozier outfit, and then settled back downstairs on her window seat, trying to sort through her thoughts.

She hadn’t really accomplished any sorting by the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione returned.

“Hey,” Harry said, when he saw her. “You’ll never believe what Bagman did.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Do tell.”

He sat down against the wall near her. “Well, first off, he offered to help me with my egg—which seems a lot of like cheating than asking Hermione or Sirius, don’t you think?”

Chrys nodded. “And he said Crouch is ill, apparently, and nobody’s seen him for ages,” Ron added, pushing her feet out of the way so he could sit next to her on the window seat. Chrys sighed and sat upright, her legs dangling. “Which was a problem for Bagman, since apparently there’s a load of goblins hounding him to find Crouch.”

“Which I thought was strange, seeing as how Goblins normally go through the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,” Hermione said, hovering for a moment and then plopping down to rest against Chrys’ dangling legs.

“Ugh.” Chrys made a face. “I hate those guys.”

“And then Rita Skeeter came in,” Harry grumbled.

“So of course, he confronted her about Hagrid,” Ron said. “Whole pub went quiet. And then when she got started on Harry, Hermione stood up for him…” Ron shot her a half worrying, half admiring look. Hermione cleared her throat.

“Then we went to Hagrid’s and Professor Dumbledore was visiting him, so he let us in.”

“And Dumbledore told Hagrid he wouldn’t accept his resignation, and we told Hagrid we don’t care about who is family is,” Harry continued. “And he told us a bit about his parents, showed us a picture… it was kind of nice…”

Chrys frowned. “Seems like I missed a lot. I should’ve gone with you instead of Parvati and her lot.”

“Oh, how was the date?” Hermione asked.

“Boring,” she said honestly. “One guy was latched onto Parvati, the other only spoke French, and the third…” She shook her head. “Anyway, what you got up to sounds a lot more interesting.”


End file.
